Maine Squeeze

Rubber bands are orange—road
crew orange, caution tape
orange. Someone’s idea of mercy.

Scuttling sideways in the tank.
No forward in twelve gallons
of recirculated water.

One claw opens. Bubbles rise.
Buzzing light makes everything
the colour of a waiting room.

The cook’s bandaged hands know
the handling, firm. Assertive.
Steel pot already boiling.
Filled w/ the sea

pressed to its lowest argument
salt, iodine, &
this. We tuck the bibs in.
We use little hammers

to crack shells, crunch & ruin & suckle butter
drenched into a murder broken.
Heavy boats return outside.

Water is pewter. Patience.
A depth we won’t go, ourselves.