I swim in a place where fish float by.

Croakers, grunts, and shrimps you fry.

Silky sea grass below, shiny sun above,

But the Gulf isn’t a place filled with much love.

You catch us with nets set out for shrimp,

And at the moment of impact, our bodies go limp.

Our entire kind is quickly disappearing.

The weight of an entire species we’re bearing.

But the one thing we care about most:

Vaquita don’t have to say “Adiós”.