Fiddler Crab

Mostly now we act like ghost crabs,
nocturnal, changing color with the tides,
communicating with waves and gestures,
you in harmonious symmetry and I
with my oversized man-claw, monstrous.

When I feed, moving my normal claw
from sand to mouth, it is like I am
bowing a hideous violin, this claw
from Hell, prodigious pincher for fighting
and the bruising old business of love.

About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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4 Responses to Fiddler Crab

  1. nananoyz says:

    How beautifully grotesque.

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