Poem: The Mussel Divine

How maddening to our friend the mollusk

subjected every day to that most callous of clichés

haunting a bi-valve’s life.

            Happy as…

Each time the bitter oath was uttered,

our friend the mollusk shrunk inward,

as if he could escape the narrative of fate.

            If they only knew, he thought.

No one should be happy as a clam!

How about strong as a mussel? Capitalizing on the pun.

How about magnificent as a mussel? For it was almost true.

Our friend the mollusk understood his visage. He knew

the similarities folks often drew

between mussels and certain parts anatomical,

transforming his sea-born nobility into hard-shelled humility,

an outcome most morose and also grossly comical.

He might well have fled to a monastery, galloping away, like a wayward scallop,

cloistering himself in meditation, like a pensive oyster.

Instead, our friend resolved to find the mussel divine

in the complementary companionship

of garlic-fried potatoes and a glass of chilled white wine.