borrowing from Bond
he brings home the bloated baggie
and scoops out blissful killifish,
dropping one after the other
into his plastic aquarium:
the translucent bucket
of gold paint
these goldfish never swim,
and his net is clotted
from skimming them back out
so often, but he knows
he will find the right species
eventually — there are tens of thousands
and if he knows his evolution,
then only the fittest will survive