Fortune Teller Miracle Fish

Yesterday there was a white plastic envelope

on the dresser. It said: “Fortune Teller Miracle Fish”.
It’s from Taiwan.  I was to put the foil-thin red
plastic fish in the palm of my hand, and the

“movements indicate your fortune.”  My disbelief
is a shored and tufted sand wall by the ocean breakers—
but there are also two lottery tickets in my pocket.
I placed the fish in my left hand.  

The head and tail moved together.  
This means In Love.  Then, it turned
completely over.  False.
And again, again, again.

False, false, false.
It was an accusation.
It’s as if I am Dreyfus, and this fish
will haul me away across the waters.

Portentous fish are not to be trusted.
Not the whale that ate Jonah,
not the sirens in the rocky channels.
Fish survived the flood.

They never rode the ark.
Salvation is foreign to them.
They’re smug, these fish.
Bad luck is a net tossed

into the sea, aiming for one
quarry, but indiscriminate.
I consulted the fish again today,
this time in my right hand.

It jumped into my left,
it really did. Then it curled
up completely. Passionate.
I think of Dreyfus, alone in his cell,

listening to the sirens in the wind.