Maryland Eastern Shore, Summer 1999
How did we find this place?
A shack in a parking lot
With ambiance spilling from
Cheap Christmas lights and rolls of
Paper towels on picnic tables
We both have sun-tightened faces
Sand stuck between toes and
Filtered through hair
Old Bay sticks to my fingers as I
Fumble with my box lid of crabs
Steaming in the night scented with
Sea spray and suntan lotion
“The males have aprons”
You say, cracking a shell with
Practiced ease
Crabs are a mystery to my
Midwestern mind
So much work for
So little meat
Next time I want the shrimp

Maryland crabs liberally doused with Old Bay...
1 comment:
The poem:
I like it - it's a keeper.
SJL
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