The Crabs of Beaumaris

I peer through the pier slats,

Decking coarse against ice cream stained hands,

Gazing into the ripples;

Fruitlessly searching for Crustaceans.

Cast down next to pillars,

Chunks of steak meat fit for restaurants,

Constrained in nylon nets.

The Butcher's choice consumed by the waves.

Time passes; impatience

is now rife within our company.

I hoist and reel the line,

To inspect my freshly coerced haul.

Alas to no avail,

I cast back the bait into the depths.

Time ticks on and I now

Wonder: what is the substance of this?

Half a dozen futile

Attempts later, I call it a day.

Crestfallen at failure

I reel in the line one final time.

Alas! It cannot be!

A dozen crustaceans gripping tight.

Pincers, tangled nylon,

A mass of bodies raised to the sky.

Six made it to the

Bucket on the wooden planks resting.

I stare at them contained;

Marking unchartered territories.

Pouring them back into

the depths, I throw in compensation.

The freed steak is engulfed,

As the sea receives her lost children.

Reviews

[Beccy]

Glad you gave them back. I loved this poem, it brought back such memories of when my sister and I were children and my father used to take us 'crabbing' on Shell island. We always returned our catches to the sea.

Beccy.