Dead Fish

Dead fish on the dead fish counter; surprised bulging aqueous eyes stare, none of them belly-up but spread on their sides in a pageant of slippery colors. Silver, red, rainbow streaked and all the muddy tones of river and sea are laid out on the broken ice for all to judge. Armored scales flash as if still warding off other sharp-finned hunters. These dead fish look uncomfortable, packed so close as they are to their sharp-toothed salty cousins. Fat scallops glisten under the lights, lobster and crabs hogtied and still glaring angrily out at this dead fish world. The skinny kid probably doesn’t know exactly what a fishmonger does - so few ‘monger’ now. Of course this is the Midwest, not Seattle or Maine, we are far from any deep blue waters and this is a large grocery store; they don’t hire fishmongers here anymore, just this kid, and he don’t even like seafood. When I ask for a Monkfish pointing out the ugliest dead fish on offer he handles it as if it were radio-active. His cringing fingers slip over its wide gargoyle mouth and for a moment he looks like he is about to throw-up. The ugly dead fish is on my kitchen-top now. I want to cut that hideous head off but know better, the best meat is in its fishy cheeks and the rest is good also, 'a poor man’s lobster.' besides it will always be a drop dead truth, that beauty is in the eye of all dead fish shoppers.