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.