Lifting the lid of the boiling pot,
the steam rose thick as death,
it frothed at the mouth,
and it coughed;
with a towel,
the chef dabbed her brow,
extractor fans whirred ahead.
The bullet-proof leviathan of the sea,
king among crustacean kind,
lightly lay, tanked, with huge humiliated claws
contracted by plastic ratchet tags.
It didn't squeal as it was placed in the pot
the searing swell served to massage smoothly
when you've got shells made of steel,
not even bullets from an uzi, nor this sizzling jacuzzi
could cook this colossal crustacean into sushi.
"Look, lobster, I'm going to lunch on you." the chef warned bluntly
"Its just a matter of time.
I've got a life I love, but other things to be done,
if you want in, you just decide."
Taken a-back the lobster kept its cool
and thoughtfully readied the reply,
And goes the proverbial tale of old,
as it opened its three mouths to speak, things started to go awry.
Quick as a flash, the scalding water was in,
its life extinguished like a light
it doesn't matter how thick your skin
when you're being cooked from inside.
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