Kitchen Counter Fish

My life in a fish bowl,
Perhaps,
Or wet looking on dry.
All of the orange blue wetness of
    my short life
How three girls, celery-stick
Fresh away from their mothers
Set me on the stained and peeling acrylic counter,
Underneath a dented cabinet full of ramen
And a collection of Walmart and thrifted plates.

How they wined and dined me,
Cooed over me,
Elbows resting on the counter,
Faces peering into my home.
I feasted for a full month
While a fourth looked on, less fresh,
Bending with the waves of life.

I ate three meals a day
Bulging round in their squareness.
And one day I burst,
Exploding orange on the cabinets
And counter
Loved as a grenade.
The thrilling conclusion of a
college apartment goldfish.