Carcinization

This bay is ruled by crabs.

Soothed by the rolling waves of

the Chesapeake, they sidestep,

shuffling and click-clacking, tip-

tapping from hill to river

to green-grass living, all while

as safe from shell-cracking as

their bronze-tough armor belies.

 

Science says the crab is the

ideal form. It's strange but true;

all creatures will evolve towards

this perfect form: porcelain-hard,

short-sighted, soft-minded, caught

with cage, as cold to touch as

deathlessness allows.

 

I feel myself changing too

as I simmer at the shores

of the Chesapeake, my pulse

slowing, my shell growing, and

dangers, distractions, panics

seem further than before. Now

I'm but a crab in my pot,

waiting for the water to boil.