.
As I open the door,
I am submerged in the cool
atmosphere that pours
out of tanks set in cruel
lines in dark galleries.
Behind each window is the fuel
for the countless horror stories
that swim endless circles through my head.
Silver disc eyes freeze,
staring, unblinking at me instead
of watching the fall
of their already dead
food. I inch through the crowded halls,
progress checked by glassed scaly sight
through the dismal
flickers of filtered light.
Beside my face, starfish press
with their knobbed flesh in a fight
to escape the glass --
my only shield
against their gnarled caress.
After I am past them, I still can feel
spirit suckers on my neck,
and quickly turn on my heels
through the dark
chamber before the sanctum of the door,
past the open-jawed lemon shark
who circles like a vulture.
A. Popp
.