Under the lone stone, the eel

hid from the white light.

 Tempted, maybe, by the fiddler

crab, body-

sized orange claw held out like

Hector when outside

the walls he begged for life. The eel

sat quiet, no

pitched fight or fast strike for our

eyes. But floating scraps

the morning after gave such joy

to boys still

eager for some war. Better

yet, the albino

red snake down the block with pink eyes

and orange

skin was ready to be fed.

This white mouse had eyes

pink as the snake’s, but mammal sight

could not help

it up the glass. All pets are

imposters: the orange

tabby that purrs in your pink lap,

eyes a dis-

tant bird, and pierces your leg.