Lobsters
Tails and claws in reefs with opiates for pain,
Bad sight, ten legs and dollar profits to be made.
Prior to their own demise, they dined on fish and mollusks,
To savor and munch away with epicurean palettes.
Galleys rattle while lobsters kneel and pray,
“Boil!” and “Cut!” Chef Lemon-Snow would say.
Tears bubbling away in ancient silver pots,
Chef Lemon-Snow the hungry, backdrop.
Bluebloods in pails toiling to resist the boil,
Antenna’s steaming, to find their destiny with olive oil.
Simmering delicious fare, extravagance to savor,
Lobsters expire while Lemon-Snow seeks the flavor.
Proud crustaceans once gray now boiling red,
Scented mist of mild aroma, ravenous we fed.
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