Dave Bonta's short poem plays with the idea of Zen as something you can't quite pin down. The speaker offers "My Zen" as a kind of casual confession: he drank with a friend, then sat for a long while with a fish. There's humor in that. It sounds nothing like solemn meditation, yet the fish gives him something to be quietly present with, and the word "sat" makes the moment feel calm and companionable.
The second stanza shifts. Now the speaker sits alone, and instead of a friend or a fish, "nothing" sits with him. He gets no form and no answer. That could sound bleak, but the way the poem repeats "sat" makes the nothing feel almost like company. The mood is still, wry, and gently accepting. The poem seems to suggest that sitting with emptiness, without needing it to explain itself, may be closer to Zen than finding any neat answer.