her soft shell crabs,
in season,
while
i gag
and turn away,
blocking
the carnage
with the giant
plastic menu.
i can't look as she
crunches
into it's back,
it's claws,
it's whitened legs.
the spot of hot
sauce
looks like a gunshot.
the sound of her teeth
crunching
into the lifeless
crustacean
is frightening, while
the life juices
of the dead crab
drips
from the corner
of her smile.
the horror.
the horror.
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