crab feasts.
the newspapers
spread on the the picnic
tables.
warm pitchers of
stale beer served
in paper cups.
bottles of vinegar.
bowls of melted butter.
boiled crabs piled
high in the middle of
each table.
a mallet, a pair of pliers
and s sharp knife
to work with.
they would go on for
hours. after about three
hours in, i'd have to take
a lunch break and go
get something to eat.
a pizza or a hamburger
from up the street.
i'd be tired with my fingers
bleeding
from the sharp edges
of shells. i'd need a break.
lunch and a short nap.
after that i'd i'd go back
to the picking of crabs.
my hands bandaged
and swabbed with
hydrogen peroxide
to hold off infection.
only three more bushels
to go.
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