Emptying the mermaid’s purse

Love, something is stuck in my craw: your favorite dish.

Will you not withdraw your favourite dish?


Channels of blood run the deck; hot blades sever

the fins from the fish – it has a flaw, your favourite dish.


Butchered torpedoes pushed back overboard

like barrels of blanks; it’s gore, your favourite dish.


A tux, a tail, a predator; the apex of the tongue;

a cook, a waiter to pour your favourite dish.


I long to sink into bed with you, my well-fed bride,

though I am not any more your favourite dish.


Will you drift over long-lines dripping with hooks

like mercury drops? I will not chaw your favourite dish.


A camera rolls at sea. What beast is this?

What cold contamination? I balk before your favourite dish.


I will not sail over poisoned mareel. What bitter palace

is this? I wish they would ban, outlaw your favourite dish.


(First published in The Ghazal Page, Issue 59, 2016.)