Warning - this is a poem!

A man who has become very dear to me encouraged me to started writing again. He wondered what I would write now that my life - inner and outer - is so different. I said I was mostly writing bad poetry that shouldn't see the light of day. Then write a good book of bad poetry, he said. I laughed, but the thought - and title - stuck with me. So here, world, is a first installment on a good book of bad poetry! (And this poem was accepted into a collection published by the Sandwich Arts Alliance so maybe it isn't too painful.....)

Ruby and a Horseshoe Crab

 

Trotting easily down the beach

The soft sand no match 

For her youth and strength

The sea silver, like mercury from an old thermometer

 

The waves small, but just noisy enough

To give sound energy to the air

The wind coming from the east

From behind her

 

The eel grass piled up at the high tide mark

The color of wet oak leaves or coca cola or

Thanksgiving gravy before the flour is added

Smelling of life and death at the same time

 

The eel grass offered a feast of smells 

Her brindle coated posture wore

The absolute impossibility

Of any increase in happiness

 

She passed without seeing 

A huge caramel colored horseshoe crab

Three feet later she froze and let her nose 

Arc her body back to the prize

 

Legs following their leader with no hesitation.

She poked it with her long, black muzzle

Once, twice, three times 

Before the courage to grab took over

 

She tried the shell but couldn’t

Get a quick hold.

It all had to be done quickly in case this thing 

That seemed dead, wasn’t

 

Her shy teeth slipped off again

She went for the tail

She got a mouthful of sand instead

She bounded a retreat, as if stung

 

Shaking her head, spitting the sand

Reassessing, but only for a second

She dove in again from another angle and

Faster this time

 

Missing the target, she dove again, success!

Pulling the crab up from the sand

Shaking it a bit to prove 

To herself it was not alive.

 

She had to lift her head so high

To keep the huge crab from dragging

That she couldn’t see where she was going

No matter

 

The prize was proof that joy 

Is never finished giving

If you are willing 

To be brave.