lying
there in the shards of ice
behind
the glass
at the butcher shop.
their flat black eyes
staring out.
at nothing.
their hearts no longer
beating.
the air has filled their
lungs with death.
i feel a cold sadness
for them.
taken from the waters
where they
swam about so easily.
two on the end i tell
the fish man.
and some tartar sauce,
my friend.
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