Snubbed by a dozen tenches of substance,
I take my petition to the barbel,
hoping she will see reason.
Her silver whiskers lash
in the turbid bottom of the tank.
'It's like this,' I say,
then I tell her what it is like.
Her wide mouth gasps
at the cool water. She swats the mud
with her orange anal fin.
I wait.
For six straight days, I wait.
Her lip barbs glint like safety pins.
Still nothing.
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