Trout – by Mark Zito

I would spend
a thousand years
haunting the river
you drowned in,

or the highway
where panicked,
screeching death
was instant,

or the white,
labyrinthine hospital,
of the dead.

I would look for
your face, wraithlike
and wrapped
in ethereal gauze.

We would be
two trout floating
dumbly in the
fisherman’s pail.

Would we
recognize each other?

Mark Zito writes poetry in Detroit, Michigan. His work has previously appeared in Fishladder: A Student Journal of Art and Writing. When he isn’t writing, Mark acts in local theater and tries to learn all the new fad dances.

Photographer’s Note: Not trout. But fish. The image at the end of the poem is memorable.