Crab

When I talk about crabs
I’m not talking about crabs.

When I talk about that sideways
shuffle,
that tip toe movement scratching
across the floor
in the middle of the night

I’m not talking about crabs.

When I talk about that
hard carapace, abandoned,
the soft form seeking
shade and shelter,
predator made prey,

I’m not talking about crabs.

When I talk about those claws
gripping, tearing,
and the scars they left,
my body changed,
predator made prey,

I’m not talking about crabs.

You know that, right?

 

Submitted to the toads – Tuesday Platform.

16 thoughts on “Crab

  1. Scuttles along the dark floor of a life, a heart. It takes a metaphor in a poem to tear through to the really vulnerable inner stuff, and the refrain — “I’m not talking about crabs” — keeps deadly aim. Great work.

    Like

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