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 conveys.
Tears bubbling away in ancient pots,
Chef Lemon-Snow the hunger his backdrop.
Blue-bloods in pails toiling to resist the boil,
Steaming, to find their destiny with olive oil.
Simmering delicious fare, extravagance to savor,
Lobsters expire while Lemon-Snow only seeks the flavor.
Proud crustaceans once gray now boiling red,
Scented mist of mild aroma, ravenous we fed.
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