Trout wriggle and push behind the soft elbow of her knees,
making soft, repetitive kissing mouths
in the hot blinding bubbles.
They bob to the surface like corpses
then tilt and power gamely under again.
Angela claps each time,
setting her highball of vermouth
down on the bath rim,
their eyes gleaming like moonstones,
her rings gleaming like fish eyes.
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