Peaches the Goldfish




In my clear plastic travel pod,
I’m spun and commented on.
It appears I’m just so cool,
Teenage mouths gape and drool.
Maybe if I was a human child,
The press would go really wild.
But nobody thinks I’ll need help,
All alone on the top shelf.
A brief novelty now a chore,
Listening to my owners snore.
But this isn’t my worse worry,
As I was named in a hurry.
Despite the justifying speeches,
Why oh why call me Peaches ?

I was travelling home the other day and chanced to observe a group of young girls proudly displaying their latest acquisition. In a small plastic bag swam a goldfish. Fascinated I couldn’t help but hear their group of friends getting really excited about this “sick ” purchase and so inspired I put pen to paper. The fish’s fate is unknown but I hope it isn’t the one in the poem.

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