A Silverfish
A silverfish is in my sink.
It’s not a fish, so it can’t swim
In the water spilling from the faucet
As I wash my filthy hands.
It tries to scurry up the side
Of the bowl to get up the ledge
And out. But it’s no go, the porcelain
Too slippery, and so
It hovers in the bowl, near waves
That are lapping from my soapy hands.
And it’s not silver either, more gray
Against the stark white sheen of the sink,
Almost black by contrast, dirty really
When compared to the white,
Bubbly soapsuds I have made.
I should wash it down the drain,
Make it swim like it damn well should
With a name like that,
Or make it shimmer like a quarter
Glistening in the rippling water,
Like a coin that glows in a good-luck fountain.
But of course it cannot swim,
And it won’t shimmer either,
Just get sodden and bloated, and sink
Like the dirt from my hands
Now swirling down the drain.
It’s a shame what a name
Can do to an innocent insect,
And to an ignorant man
Confronting life and death
In the bowl of his bathroom sink.
And so I take a piece of toilet paper,
Slide it next to the silverfish
So he’ll climb on
And I can get him out,
Back up on the shelf
Of the bookcase in my bedroom,
Where he belongs, and he can eat,
To his heart’s content,
A fresh new page
Of Gravity’s Rainbow.
© John Wagner
John Wagner’s work has been published in The Lyric, Blue Collar Review, Long Island Quarterly, and Long Islander. He holds a PhD (ABD) in creative writing from University of Denver and has been a teacher at Providence College and a development director for a wide variety of organizations, including Loyola Marymount University, the Denver Symphony, and Boulder Community Health. John enjoys golf, traveling, and fundraising for a variety of nonprofit organizations.
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