Picking Lobsters in the Corner Mart

Those plump commas of claws
can lean and wave at us
their eyestalks blind
to the unchanged water

They scuttle
robotic in the fusia
oxygen bubbles are
degree symbols superscripting
their worth

when we barter and choose
among the corn chips
and frozen food
I open my billfold
and taste the salt in my blood

Previous Next Cover Front Contents BIO