Docile
Live lobsters
Packed in a wax box
Grab them by their smooth body
Where there are no spikes
Their eyes are black tubes
They feel the pressure of your fingers
Grasp
Those eyes move independently
Bugging around
Their arms splay
Trying to shred your forearm with their claw
Rubber banded immobile, unable to open,
Flapping their tail
Frantic,
Primal, instinctive movements,
Fear and scurry and anger and confusion
Place them in a perforated pan
One by one
Sixteen in all
Wonder what they’re thinking
Their bodies of armor shuffle, clinking
You can hear their heart pulse
If you hold one to your ear
Feel it too
Through your latex glove
As you warm the steamer oven
Steam burns are the worst kind of pain
And that they have no central nervous system
Is a myth, you know that all too well,
Ovens ready
Their eyes are resting now
You slide them in
Shut the hatch
Turn the dial to twelve minutes
Exhale as the boiling rush expels, showering,
Turn
Take a step
And in your mind
You hear them scream