Ten to a bag. When Kate brought them home
they were the length of her pinky. Daddy said
they ate each other: that’s how one got so big
it plugged the drain hole. Orange as a cheese puff;
definitely dead. Daddy waited till we left
to get out his tools—schloop! it must have gone.
You shouldn’t keep fish in the fountain.
The living ones flicked slow tails like swollen thumbs
till the last one died, colossal, gray belly breaking
the water. I handled it, a quick scoop.