Peanut

There is a baby sea turtle this morning in my bathroom sink. I warmed the water to room temperature and stopped two inches in the bottom. The little guy's shell has tanned squares with rounded corners. The outlines are seaweed green. He's still. After ten minutes he begins washing his face the way a cat does, rubbing its bent wettened paws on its whiskers. Instantly he withdraws when I pull the stopper in the sink. His eyes are that of an insect's, all pupil and black, and he could live to be 200. One day he'll be returned to a state conversation group and released into the ocean. But today I set him on the volcanic black sand of his aqaurium where he finds a new bed of leafy Romaine lettuce, the table set with food arrived while he was in the men's room.