clam
by marie gordon
It’s a sauna here
On this muddy floor
Grasping this boiling vent
Craving an ice cold beer
Inside the clean spring
Deep secrets I keep
Locked tight in my white shell
If only clams could sing…
The otters swim round
Scuba divers peer
Into my murky hole
Hovering my ground
Thirst insatiable
By boiling coffee
In darkness I’ve no rest
My angst ignitable
Oh to be a clam
Contented at peace
Living in a clambake
A rock is what I am
It’s trifling indeed
A petty cooked clam
To cover murky myths
And placate fowl greed
Boiled, I am crisp
My shell lost its grip
Whitewash murky waters
Floating on surface bliss
Oh to be a clam
Contented at last
A boiled cork afloat
A broken seal I am
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