Member Poem

Black oyster roast
still emits steam.

I see
the black oysters feeding

on the muddy breast of the canal
beyond this plate.

Oysters open their doors
to sooth our stomachs.

Roast slides down our throat
holding on either side of the taste.

Oyster flesh stimulates
the pale and withered nights.

Black oyster is a buttress to
many a dream on the bank.

There’s pleasure even within
the clumsy shells.

The unwanted on a muddy bottom
become the most wanted.

First appeared in The Literary Hatchet.