I heave myself up. You have no idea
how much muscle it takes to raise this mass
onto the rocks. No clever monkey hands,
not me. I come from the deep water, the cold places,
and when I snatch it's with my teeth,
and for keeps.
Still I love to sun myself:
it's worth lurching up onto the warm basalt.
I time my lift with the surge of a wave,
wriggle up - with some loss of dignity -
while the water drains away
and my full weight makes itself known:
Twenty five hundred pounds of pinniped
can spare some pride on a spa day.
5 comments:
So, the sea lion brought to mind this poem by Elizabeth Bishop, "At the Fishhouse," and these lines:
"He has scraped the scales, the principal beauty,
from unnumbered fish with that black old knife,
the blade of which is almost worn away."
D'oh! Forgot a link to her poem: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/182896
I love that poem.
there is absolutely nothing I don't like about this poem. That is to say: well done. again. yours truly
Strong stuff.
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