The Lobster Poem by Percy Quillwort

He strikes the langosta with the steak (or stake!) knife,
Again and again, again-again-again, strangely metered, repeated, heated, harsh jabs of the lance,
I want to stand, cry, shriek, «¡Pero señor, el torro ya está muerto! »
But the bloodthirsty crowd cries for more, and the matador plunges his sword
into the gut of the wasted creature until its lifejuices spew forth in a smelly geyser.
The sicklysweet warm
hits
my face SPLASH
like blood
And the gears of time grind creak creak
creak
to a halt.





'Are you all right? ' they say.
Am I all right.
I was in the war again,
with Buck,
and Gibbons,
and Esteban.