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lyrics
Lobster, tank, still, life
I.
I would set free
the lobsters in their
gross glassery case,
but for a place
to put them.
I would send them out
the fire exit door, into the moist
warm night, send them toward
the lakes and rivers, but no,
no they must await
their allotted time
like the rest who work
these flourescent aisles,
who sit behind their own
tanks and glass walls,
waiting
for retirement
II.
Some strut proud
in the bubbling enclosure
in the penetentiary-lit corner
of the stench-ridden meat
counter
others, most, cower
silently and sullenly together
in a corner, their life
all but gone
I think that to set them free
even in the aisles might be
a preferable fate to this,
but
return to my wine
selection
lobster,
tank,
still,
life,
in the back corner
of the store,
next to the wine, a place to drown
one’s sorrows
at this world.
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