I spent the day watching predator hunt prey.
Again and again the prey got away.
As if to say, “I’ll not be your food today.”
The big fish has strength and might.
He patrols the tank, ready for a fight.
Little fish are light, and can take a bite.
Big fish’s mouth isn’t big enough.
The little fish are surprisingly tough.
They can handle all his gruff.
They’re just barely too big, fin to fin.
Bit by bit, slowly, he starts to give in.
It’s not like there’s something to win.
He’s growing tired of the game.
Accepting that the tank’s not the same.
Less and less does he aim to maim.
As little fish grow they’ll look less like food.
Then maybe big fish won’t be so rude.
Luckily little fish seem to be shrewd.
I love big fish, but also hope for little fish.
And for little fish I have a simple wish.
A peaceful tank, or at least peacefulish.