by DavidKM

His Caviar Mama

Innsmouth boys, roughnecks, staring dockside youth,
trash talking at Gilpin's Bait Shop,
with its mounted beauties on the walls,
its rustic sushi-syle buffet;
Field & Stream is kid stuff now,
midnight catch-and-release out by the reef
in Dad's “borrowed” boat,
sneaking into Piscine's for the adults-only show
where half breeds take it all off for you.

Wilfred's got a rattle-trap Ford and a
paid-up membership in the Dunwich Aquarium,
state-of-the-art tanks and big big fish;
he can bring a friend and they all want it,
stand there for hours, hands deep in their pockets,
watching the sleek back-and-forth, back-and-forth,
of scaled and iridescent perfection.

“See that one,” he smirks, pointing to a gravid sturgeon
gliding through the Rivers of Asia tank,
five feet of mouthwatering piscine motherhood,
“That one?!” his friend gasps, half belief, all envy,
“and the hammerhead in the big tank.”
“You're lying!” his friend hisses, “they're animals!”
“Plenty of guys want a ride down here,” Wilfred warns,
and the kid backs off; he doesn't want to miss the Big Show,
but he's thinking, that hammerhead broad would tear you up!

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