She got a fish.
Some random person
Handed her a goldfish
In a bag
And she kept it.

And then she got another one,
To keep the first one company.
She bought them a tank,
And pebbles,
And a plastic plant.
And I feel stupid because
I thought we were dirt poor.
I thought she was broke enough
To tell me my dad has to support me,
Because that's what she's been saying.

She's got plants, too.
Five balconies,
And flowers
And herbs.

So now she's got fish to feed
And plants to prune and water,
When I'm in therapy
And I get my own dinner
And I've been hung out to dry since I was twelve.

God forbid her fish should swim alone,
Or her plants beg her for attention,
She'll love them, care as if they were her own,
And I'll cry myself to sleep again.

Unless their novelty will fade.
Unless slowly, she'll be too busy for them, too.
Unless they won't be her babies anymore.
Until they die and wither as most neglected things do.