Out of Water

The lady in the bottle will sometimes look right out at you

through the glass, her pale mouth opening

so wide you can see the tonsils shrink back a little.

She widens and narrows the O of her mouth

in silence, like a pupil, and suddenly you are blushing

like the tonsils of her eye. All around her, the chattering carp

and sunfish close their mouths, one after the other,

like they’ve swallowed a row of almonds.

They cannot simply say, “O!” but would rather pull down

their lips, like clams in disapproval. Only you can see her

mouthing the words, “My hero, de Niro, Cairo, zero, five zero.”