The Fresh New England Lobster Poem by Jeffrey Tillery

(With appreciation to Elizabeth Bishop)


She went to see the fishmonger
And brought a lobster home
A fearsome two-pound monster
I could almost hear it moan

It was delivered in a box
Blue rubber bound its claws
It wreaked of fish and paper
A smell that gave me pause

It truly was a wonder
Brown with orange spots
The shiny shell like armor
Would turn red in the pot

Beside it was an ice pack
That just held death at bay
A death that would be horrible
And it would come today

The misery could not be known
It could not make a sound
Sat very still upon its tail
With eyes darting around

Soon would come the gruesome fate
The cleaver of the cook
Or worse, the boiling caldron
Or worse, the Chinese wok

For now it sat beneath a cloth
That just held death at bay
Death would not be merciful
Oblivious gourmet

The hunger for exotic things
For things we do not need
We coldly take the little lives
Our taste buds supersede