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October 2016, vol 12 no 3

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Elizabeth Alford

Fishbowl


Flopping on the floor, covered in dust—that's how I remember you. I bought you the best food; brought playthings to appease you: fake plants, old shells, a tube to swim through, even a castle. I treated you like royalty; but you were, for whatever reason, unhappy. I guess we can only swim in circles for so long before succumbing to insanity.

another flake falls . . .
every day you say
you'll call


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