Ohayogosaimasu, he said; shrunken in a scientists skin; selling fish. And he wasn’t growing fins. There was a fat cat licking at the scales. And all the wrong ones. Oh, I must go to the shops. Ohayogosaimasu, he said; to the teller, to whoever.
He didn’t have a girl friend; he had that going for him.
He had more than a trail of fish slime going for him, though. He had a hymn:
Oh, your looks; thoughs of friends and those of foes,
Oh yours looks; you’re looks cooks,
There ain’t been no peace in the barnyard; not since my little red rooster been gone,
He’s got that going for him…
Cooks can call taxis and fry egg foo yung and smile at the dying sun,
Have an S&M sandwich with a discount; eat out your beef heart; the cow-eye batting your life down, down in the holy,
The gnone is fishing for your sandwich: greedy lil’ thing; sweet little devil.
Sweet lil’ devil.
My name is my marmalade.