Fishie, fishie

The fish tank bubbles as the
filters churn the water,
mixing and frothing the clear substance.
Gazing into the glazed, oversized eyes
of the golden angelfish
I feel catapulted into its world.
Pressure,
like tons of cars in a junkyard,
pounds upon my frame.
Only 60 gallons in which to travel.
Contained,
barred in in a glass coffin
where my demise will surely be met.
The algae offers a reminder
of the filth that soils my skin,
desperately needing to be scoured off by a gritty pad.
Desolation I feel
at the lack of nutrition offered
by small flakes of rainbow colored sea remnants
ground to paper-thin pieces.
Aquarium delirium,
like an electric shock treatment,
puts reality in a crystal clear perspective.