Ambassador

Soon, I will become the planet’s most unqualified ambassador. I can picture it: the shuffle of papers, the licensures, the tickets, the stamps - the furrowed brow of my constituent. How am I to direct him to the consulate with consonants when he conducts his business in vowels? He’s already a seal, all slick hide and sensitive whisker. And I’m to fashion him a sturdy shoe, a fitted jacket? He doesn't need them; can't abide by them.

They don't tell you, but this job description is unfired clay: viscous, yes, but pliable. Who's to say I can't loose the waters from their dams in this fine city and stock the result with charismatic fish? My son needs current and reflective surfaces, not a jurisdiction! He needs kinsmen, not an interpreter! "My son." My tongue wraps around the syllables like oysters and I swallow them whole.