fry

While in the kitchen killing
a fly, it occurs to me
that I may die having never
seen a pregnant seahorse
or a peacock flounder.
I'd be okay with missing
out on the flounder,
but please let heaven (or
hell) wait until I can
witness this sea monster
swim around a coral reef
with a brood pouch full
of fully developed darlings.
I see I've grown attached
to these juvenile fish
I have yet to meet.
Did you know biology calls
them "fry"? I can't help but laugh
and cry at the idea
of frying up a thousand seahorses,
right at the moment when they learn
to feed themselves.
Their knowledge is useless now,
as I dip them into tartar sauce
and chow down.
Adieu, little darlings.
You are so delicious
that I've forgotten about the dead
fly and the egg
I had meant to crack
and fry.