When the floral bouquets are passed from a beautiful woman
and the ribbon is cut, one aquarium opens and another is drained.
Staring into the white kitchen cabinets of the world, I see fossils.
In the fish market the freezers all look the same.
Behold the workbench with the plastic octopus pinned to the wall
and remember standing in line to say hi to my father
before sitting down with a cigarette
to analyze the trajectory of a rocket’s path.
The days of children’s socks, shaking hands with pilots
and inspecting the trunks of trees with laughter are over.
The binoculars have passed to my left hand
and several men wearing hats stand round
taking notes, like a cloud that appears overhead
with the face of a bear, I don’t ask anyone’s name
when no one is screaming.