Aquarium, 12 January 2018

We went on a Friday field trip. Daughter was
Determined to visit every exhibit
At least once, and her old father
In his rented wheelchair was inordinately
Proud of her. A tactile kid, she visited
The two “petting” pools twice, but also
The anaconda and the giant pacific octopus,
Exceptionally good at camouflage.
Everything else on the tour map, every tank,
Every simulated ecosystem, every habitat,
She hit once, from the Amazon’s electric eel
To the penguins of Antarctica, from sloths
And cloud leopards (in an aquarium!)
To the Blue Tangs, White Sturgeons,
River otters and Japanese Spider Crabs.
This being Utah, squads of double strollers
And pods of small children thronged along,
Their fingertips, lips, and noses crawling
As Lowell’s had before them, snails on the glass.
Glass. Plexiglass. Miraculous substances
That could bring a thousand species
Eye to eye, the aware and unaware alike,
With the one monster species whose skulls
Grew the glass, the machinery, the trucks,
The traps, the research, the storylines
About lost clownfish and cute otters,
The whole shebang that raised this edifice
On the high, far inland continental desert
Under the mountains of snow and copper.
How had life’s ruthlessness come to this?
“What are we doing here?” Old father
Muttered to delighted daughter. “It’s fun
And educational” explained the gently
Condescending daughter, “and there’s ice
Cream in the cafeteria.” So there was.