shucks no

at the age of nine me and sum friends of mine 

slipped quickly through the trees like a spirit breeze 

to appear at the motionally charged ocean 

whose tide was at low ride 

so all that remained was sand, rock and sea life drained of briny 

let’s build a fire quick and the harvest we must pick 

as it sleeps in beds exposed to the will of nine year-olds 

who gather them up ready to shuck 

so we’ll open them up slow - shuck no!  

toss them in the fire and let it do all the work 

because cooking and hissing and spitting 

they will open slowly to reveal the best seaside sup 

of cooked oysters in the shell with the aromatic tell 

of an oyster, ocean and wood-fire potion 

like the smell of freshly mown grass

it’s something that will forever last

© David Girard 18/12/19