Fisherman, Come Here


by Pavel Chichikov

Fisherman, come here

Haul up your net and show me what you've caught

Slide the dripping cables on the wet sand

Now pull apart the web, the mesh, the toils

And tell me what there is to see

What fish, what haul, what catch may be

There squirms a crab, eight legs too many

Slice it open, slice it – there's a penny

For which you spent in gall one half your soul

There's another fish, dead love

A gold and green dorado pronged with treachery

And lust – see how the pure gills bleed

Another and another – indifferent

The way you spill them on the beach

The salmon sun, the lithe and bonny trout

For you these spawn are lucre you exploit

Not creatures of the crescent month

Which has no price yet is so precious

Here the twitching small fry – jealousy,

A sprat, impatience – filthy skate

That crawls and hordes the leavings from the scourings

Ugliest of all, the stickle perch

Ungraceful, with a dorsal fin of knives

No meat but all revenge

Mistrust, unfaith, the green pike swims alone

But you have gaffed him up –

He bites you, serpent on the heel

Leave that stinking mess, it is no use

Not even for the drachma wedged inside the long bladder

Let the dogs eat flesh and bone

Fisherman, I give you other work to do

Take off your shoes

And I will give you stones to walk on

Bread for the stones, fish for the pauper

Miracles for bread

Martyrdom for love

Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.

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