The Blobfish

Sketch of a blobfish in its natural environment by Alan Riverstone McCulloch

The Blobfish

Clearly a fish,
Clearly a blob:
Big of hooter,
Wide of gob,
Beady eyes and bloated head,
And very, very dead.
We trawled the net to rake the murky depths,
And up your mugshot popped –
For once, an ugly bugger who’s unplugged,
And not the usual “cropped & ’shopped”.

But wait.
No, this feels too easy –
All too gawpy, snide and cheesy,
Facts and heckles both unchecked.

But what can we expect, hey ?
We snatch you out from miles-deep
And leave you rotting on a slab
Where density is not so steep –
No wonder, then, you’re looking drab !
Gelatinous skin is just the thing to help you float –
But do we care ?
Oh, how we grin and how we gloat,
As you bloat in our low-pressure air.

But away from such shallows,
Away from our narrow lies –
Deep down and dense,
Where you raise your callow fry,
So you suddenly make sense
Amid sea-pig and anglerfish and barreleye.

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