Beautiful Fish

(i)

He saw the fish on its
iced steel plate. He peered
through the window and met
a seductive eye.

His breath caught short
and his eyes smeared red
as the fishmonger took it up
and drew a gutting knife.

"For pity's sake" he said
(more loudly than he should)
"Please - bag her whole
as carefully as you can."

Close to the crabs an
oyster-boy sang his lament
as a woman in black pearls
leaned into the plate

and as the silver sprats
danced and the clouds turned
to squall she whispered:
"My! What a beautiful fish."

(ii)

He displayed her on his
bed, like a diamond in
its pouch, aroused as he
was by cold skin to the touch,

and sat in admiration
of her all-too-brief life
racing the ocean current
while gathering her spawn.

He caressed her now-brittle
fins and kissed her now-purple
lips, licked the tips of fingers
all a-glitter with scale.

He did all these things
and stroked her now-warm
flesh, whispering: "My!
What a beautiful fish."

(iii)

She lay in a net by the
dark water's edge as he
stripped himself naked
by the moon's silver light.

And at that time when the
shoals skip as one, he dove
to the ocean floor with his
love around his neck.

He sat on a coral for as
long as he was wont, until
her salt and brine had
seeped into his veins

and his skin crisped to
sea-candy
and her eyes rolled in
their jugs
as they drifted through
ocean space
longer than they should.

And later - much much later -
when the trawlermen hauled
their catch they said:
"My! What beautiful fish."