Oldest friend

My goldfish died today.
He was twenty nine.

When I was six I'd wanted a donkey
someone to hug bigger than me
but the ripple of fluid bright
sparkles as Golden turned
in a flash
splash
was the calming constant
through playgroup, school,
uni, dole and various works.

People think fish have no memory
but looking into his eye
I knew he knew me, each time
as I was then
and I will miss that contact
with his alien
understanding of life
incomprehending
of all my passing troubles
from his water room full of rainbows
when the sun shone

I will dig a new room for him tomorrow
in opaque dark
ground surrounded

now the corner of the worktop
is a Jif scrubbed emptiness
which mess will soon spill over
and each time I pass
I miss the life filled space
and cool mind touch
of my oldest friend