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To A Fish
By James Henry Leigh Hunt

You strange, astonished-looking, angle-faced,
Dreary-mouthed, gaping wretches of the sea,
Gulping salt-water everlastingly,
Cold-blooded, though with red your blood be graced,
And mute, though dwellers in the roaring waste;
And you, all shapes beside, that fishy be,--
Some round, some flat, some long, all devilry,
Legless, unloving, infamously chaste:--

O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights,
What is't ye do? What life lead? eh, dull goggles?
How do ye vary your vile days and nights?
How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles
In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes, and bites,
And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles?

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My Monday was pretty much a waste because I had a bad sore throat and no voice and couldn't stop coughing despite Robitussin. I consider the fact that I got everything unpacked a success. I had faux chicken soup for lunch, tomato soup for dinner, plenty to drink, and lots of cough drops that made me vaguely nauseous all afternoon.

We watched the season premiere of Supergirl, which had too little Cat Grant but plenty of Lena and Supercorp, so I enjoyed it. Then we watched most of the very close Vikings-Bears game, though I wasn't really paying attention because Daisy kept hurking and Cinnamon didn't want to be brushed. Coral from the New York Aquarium on Sunday:

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