Tank Walls

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The chirps of the crickets 

bounce against the tank walls.

Eight, nine, maybe ten, 

hop onto the artificial greenery. 

Frozen mist 

covers the inhabitant’s eyes.

Where are they? 

Can they not see me either?

Mouth ajar, with his tongue 

reaching out for at least one 

unfortunate prey;

nothing. 

The long antennae poke 

and prod him as he decays.

A wish that one day 

the mist will fade.