Toilet

by Dan McGee

At the glass surface, unbroken, except for the paper which twisted and dipped beneath. Some of it stuck out like a glacier in a cold sea.

The paper was wadded in blossoms,

Blushed and flushed by the water and it floated

In nebulas of color: transparent and tea strains of ruddy brown and thick gold.

There were peeks of the stuff at the bottom, dark and curled alien cuneiform

Or some strange installation art.

Looking into the depths of the shallow pond like a seer peering into the crystal ball stillness of a stagnant future that is of something left behind:

Inside and outside and all around frigid ceramic sleekness

And at the bottom those not-swimming Oriental goldfish, sleeping tadpoles.