STOPPING BY CRABS
AT A CHINESE MARKET
What crabs these are I do not know—
some living ones still linger, though.
No sales girl sees me stop back here
to watch them limping left and fro.
My Japanese girlfriend thinks it queer
to stop without a purchase nearing.
At a pail of bluest crabs.
'The Chinese, too, will think it's weird.'
Then gives her Gucci bag a shake
to free me from my frozen gape—
the only other sound's the taps
of crippled legs on shell-sea grave.
The crabs are panicked—broken, beat—
but they have the rim of a bucket to breach,
and miles to go to reach the sea.
Miles to go to reach the sea.
David Ayer is an ESL Instructor in Toronto, Ontario. His work has previously appeared in Stirring, dANDelion, dig, Yomimono, Jones Ave, and Saucy Vox.