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.
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.