He wasn’t doing
Very well
In his tiny little fish bowl
Living longer than we
All expected
Sinking towards the bottom
Yet putting up a fight
And eating his
Fish flake food
What a boring life
What a tragic strife
To never have challenge
And to die a captive
Wonder wonder wonder
How a fish might take
An upper
Or a downer
Let’s put a shot of whiskey
In his bowl
See what that does
For his aching soul
Filtering through his gills
A shock, to be sure,
To his tiny little frills
To make him breathe alcohol
Whiskey in his tank
To make the goldfish
Drunk for the rest of his
Life
