In the bar, there is a big aquarium
with talking fish, each with their own personality,
a few of them rude. One of them depressed.
The others silly. It is a bar after all.
You sit at your table, drinking the bright green
drink with orange swirls. It is cold.
The bartender, a lumbering dinosaur
with an Irish accent, waves across the room.
It is a dream of course,
but so vivid real-life seems dull
and all you want to do is go back to sleep
and check out the anime fox in the corner
with the frightening blue eyes
who probably does not speak your language
since it appears no one else does.
About this poem
Weird dreams last night. Just getting it out of my system.
The picture was taken at The Golden Nugget, in Las Vegas.