Just for fun – because it’s a brand new year!

Georgia's Foster Home for Fish © M L S Baisch 2017

Georgia’s Foster Home for Fish © M L S Baisch 2017

GEORGIA’S FOSTER HOME FOR FISH

(Under Construction – Draft)

by M L S Baisch © 2016-17

There once was a fish named Thug
who preferred to wrap up in a rug.
That’s Strange.

In a fish-bowl he couldn’t be trusted.
In fact, that’s how he got busted!
It happened.

He pushed, poked, and prodded
’til some fed-up fish plotted.
Against him!

A big sign that fish posted,
and Thug’s goose was roasted.
Oh yes.

Sad story, but true.
Thug’s notariety grew.
It happened.

No other fish loved him.
They all swam above him.
The shame!

His name once so proud of
they now disavowed of.
Poor Thug.

He had to go somewhere
so deep was Thug’s despair.
But where?

That rug was just handy
on the floor by the lady.
Get the picture?

The demoiselle fair said,
“You just cannot stay there!”
Fish don’t (usually) breathe air.

“You need your own place.”
Thug shrugged in disgrace.
Yes, he did.

The lady named Georgia
felt for the fish, sorta.
Kindhearted soul.

A fish does need water
not air for much longer.
Or he’s a gonner!

She picked up the rug
and the fish with a shrug.
And quickly.

“I have just the place
for a fish with your taste.”
She didn’t mean fishfood.

From the sink she poured water
in a bowl on the counter.
Good thinking.

Put the fish AND the rug
in the bowl: it went thud.
The rug was heavy.

When Thug got his bearing
his little eyes were tearing.
That was a close one.

Hands on her hips
and a smile on her lips,
Georgia was feeling good.

Georgia picked up the bowl,
with the fish and bedroll.
She took it all

to a room full of fishes
in bowls and in dishes–
there were lots of fish!–

where, from their places,
Thug saw their faces.
They were smiling!

Thug was so happy,
he didn’t feel scrappy.
Civility requires a bit of distance.

He swam round and round,
in and out, up and down.
Out of the rug!

The other sweet fishes
smiled from their bowls and their dishes.
Welcoming Thug!

They swam and they sang,
“Welcome, Thug, to our home.”
To Georgia’s Foster Home for Fish.

“We’ve all been unsafe
till we came to this place.”
To Georgia’s Foster Home for Fish.

“We know what you’re feeling.
Your heart needs some healing.”
At Georgia’s Foster Home for Fish.

“Some rest and some quiet.
There’s no need for a riot.”
Not at Georgia’s Foster Home for Fish.

“You can sleep in your rug,
wrapped up nice and snug.”
At Georgia’s Foster Home for Fish.

“When you need a hug here
come out of your rug, dear.”
said Georgia to Thug.

It was all so delightful
Thug forgot to be frightful.
Georgia smiled.

“Stay as long as you want,
though house-rules are detente.”
She laid down the law.

Thug tucked in his fins
and looked up, all grins.
Thug was happy.

So the new resident
took his place near the vent.
Home sweet home.

Where his water was warmish,
(nasty) inclinations all shorn-ish.
At Georgia’s Foster Home for Fish

The End

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