Fish oil, exercise and no wild parties

My lifelong friend, dear heart,
these days you’re losing the plot:

you’re a fish in a bucket,
open-mouthed, flopping about

in a panic, bereft of your sheen,
all confidence gone.

Examined in action
on a black and white screen,

every movement recorded,
you’re haplessly tethered,

chaotically jumping, locked
into a pulse of your own. Tracked

by the inks on that turning drum
we see what will come

if that spidery record persists
Slow down then, no coffee, resist

the enticement of alcohol,
not even a thimbleful

and I will net you, my flailing fish,
land you without a splash

into calm waters, weaving
upstream, steady and breathing.

Till the hook’s savage grab
lands us both on a slab.