Surrounded by remora,
Devouring detritus as a delicacy,
Chum as the choicest cut,
Blissfully ignorant of the nutritional void
And the stagnation,
Never questioning the pH
Or the mechanisms,
Eager for their rotation in the roster,
Mistaking proximity and use
For intimacy and reciprocation,
When your eyes cloud over
And your last brilliant scale flakes,
Then who are you to anyone?
-Melissa Donley