The Case Poem by Kathleen Jamie

The Case



In which river did the fish swim
that mistook for a fly a hook on a line
so drew its last, that a silver blade
could pare from its flesh its still fresh
weed-green skin, to be cured
then eased around this little case,
which contains the doctor's
shoal of fleams, and the keen one
he's pressing now to your inner arm,
so a mere flick opens a vein

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