My Virtual Reading Room

The Song of the Jellyfish

AS the waves slip over my cuticle sleek,
They tickle my soul with glee,
And I shake with a visceral, saccharine joy,
In the place where my ribs should be.
For I’m simply a lump of limpid lard,
With a gluey sort of a wish
To pass my time in the oozing slime—
In the home of the jellyfish.

But I’m happy in having no bones to break
In my unctuous, wavering form,
And I haven’t a trace, nor, indeed, any place,
For the dangerous vermiform.
For I’m built on the strictest economy plan,
And the model was made in a rush,
While essaying to think almost drives me to drink,
For I’m simply a mass of mush.

At night, when I slide on the sandy beach,
And the moonbeams pierce me through,
The tears arise in my gelatine eyes,
And I gurgle a sob or two.
For I wonder—ah, me!—in the time to come,
When the days are no longer young,
What fish’s digestion will suffer congestion
When the end of my song is sung.

By Jarvis Keiley

Originally posted by elenbarathi at The Song of the Jellyfish, by Jarvis Keiley