A Pocket of Resistance: Sir Isaac Newt

There are more stories here to which i may return. But for now, an eulogy:

Sir Isaac Newt

Sir Isaac Newt
finally bought the farm
although he did not soar very much
during his lifetime,
just swimming around,
sitting on the rock
in the terrarium
we got him
after his unnamed compatriot
disappeared forever only days
after our daughter brought them home;
not much later, Sir Aristotle Newt
had taken a header in the deep sink
after escaping from the old terrarium
which we hope happened to the unnamed one.

we gave Aristotle a proper burial,
complete with a popsicle stick for a headstone
after our daughter demanded such,
her storing him in a plastic bag in the freezer
until i got home
to attend to him properly with respect.

then Ike swam on alone in his tiny world
sated with the frozen blood worm meal
we fed him a couple of times a week;
my wife, recognizing my procrastinating
cleaned his terrarium every other week
allowing him to roam in the bathroom sink.

oh, he had a good life, such as it was
in the terrarium on my desk next to the window;
i really did like him;
i would talk to him every day,
admiring his orange and black polka dot tummy,
considering his wide and vast knowledge of the world,
but
never saying anything,
not even making a noise.

my wife found him this morning
belly up
in the terrarium;
afraid i would be distraught,
she disposed of him
along with the coffee grounds,
an ignominious end
for such a glorious dainty creature.

for twelve years,
Sir Ike sat on my desk
calmly looking out at me from his terrarium;
other than when the cat would sit
on the top screen of the terrarium
or hungrily stare at him through the glass;
he always struck a calm pose,
making me feel akin, in control, peaceful.

but now, the newt era is over here.
Sir Isaac Newt is gone,
coffee bean grinds gone.

i will mourn only briefly for this
noble newt named Ike,
he was a good newt…

i think.

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