The Bluefish

You and I were barely burned by the sun
wearing worn out bathing suits -
yours snugly hinting at the lures to come.

Ecstatic flies swarmed the picnic table
where the sawed-off head blankly
watched as her body sizzled on the grill
dressed in a green coat of lemon juice and dill.

And you stood staring into her phlegm-colored eye
as if the fish had a secret she wanted to confide;
as if she beckoned you to jump 
on the grill and sizzle at her side
because you, too, would swim against the tide
only to have men feast upon your glistening body
while you watched helpless and horrified.

A future filled with so many sharks
must have come as a nasty surprise
because you grabbed a silver knife . . . 
those ravenous men should have seen that phlegm fly.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief