LIVING IN A GOLDFISH

BOWL

I’m watching a boy

who is watching a fish

swimming round and round

in a goldfish bowl,

exposed to his eye

with nowhere to hide.

The boy watches

in pure fascination

how the little fish tries to hide,

in a bowl with no corners

and nowhere to go.

He doesn’t see me

watching, that boy,

engrossed as he is

in watching the fish.

But little by little,

a creeping sensation

prickles the back of my neck –

as I stand there,

watching the boy

who is watching the fish,

who is watching my back?

copyright Roisin Duffy