National Poetry Month 2013 30/3o poem 4.
Eating the Eyeballs of a Horse Mackerel
The chef placed the fish in front of us.
Splayed, grilled, waiting for our prodding chopsticks.
We started by pulling off the fins,
crunching down on crisp cartilage.
Poking the tan grill marked flesh
until pieces broke free for our mouths.
We turned the head over
looked into its eyes
pulled them out in one pinch with our wooden tools