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Zoey doesn't like goldfish

Everyone knows it
knows that she won't eat them
somehow they were on her lunch plate
she doesn't like them
they taste foul to her
sickinging salty and dry
when she does have them
if that is the only thing to eat at snacktime
afterward she washes her mouth out for five minutes
then goes into the bathroom to brush her teeth
everyone knows it
yet from the age of three to ten
they end up in front of her
like a recurring dream
like endless refrain
swimming towards her since 1958
smiling back
at her frown
her form
her gut health
wincing at the stewards of youth
guardians of nutrition
teachers and parents typing and wondering
if the economy will swim
or smile
as Zoey crushes them
the powder returns
to its essence
like Zoey formless and potent
extracted elixir of an industrial shortcut
sprinkled rebellion of whey and artifical coloring
she looks at the package, the fish with sunglasses
pulls out her own pair
wears them and looks upon the earth
and sings her own
endless refrain
"Zoey doesn't like goldfish"