Poetry: Shellfish
For my daughter Clea
I want to sit and watch her eat shellfish,
watch her dismember a lobster or a crab,
the pleasure on her face as she sucks the meat
from the claws, the sea-taste of the eggs and head,
the way she gives herself up to the joy of eating,
and cracking open the shells till there’s nothing left.
Not a routine business, as it is for me.
And anyway, I don’t like getting my hands sticky.