My trade is a fickle one. Today it’s telling me that it wants to be a fish even though it doesn’t know how to breathe underwater. Maybe tomorrow it’ll want to be an oak tree. When summer approaches it becomes more aloof, saying it feels in a tropical mood, and spending all day at the beach bar. It can’t stand social injustice and may show it through irony. In its’ embrace I feel at home; I am nurtured by its’ voice. That’s why my trade and I always end up hanging around together.