The Crabs

The tempest came to butcher Cain,

To pillage and to poach.

The raindrops tapped the window pane

To signal her approach.

The crabs felt her calamity

And climbed out of the dregs—

A rasping, raucous family,

Each member on ten legs.

The interloping arthropods

Were quick to seize the bay,

And on the beach, a lightning rod

Threw light upon their prey.

A seaside shack of Spanish stone

Stood sturdy in the squall.

The door swung when the wind was blown

And beckoned to them all.

They swarmed the beachside bungalow

And made their home inside.

They found the shelter apropos

For keeping out the tide.

And each began to wonder why

They’d lingered for so long

In dusky, frigid waters by

A seaside warm and strong.

The squatters in their swindling

Found rations foul and fresh,

For in the bedroom, dwindling,

Was gray, mephitic flesh.

Pincers picking through his bones,

Collectors took the beast,

For though he’d thwarted Davy Jones,

He would not fare the feast. 

They rummaged through his every part,

Consumed him in his whole,

And when they ate the fisher’s heart,

The crabs subsumed his soul.

They spoke just as the human had

In hollow, husky sounds;

An intonation low and mad

Of voices through the grounds.

They drank his drinks and played his games

And read his magazines.

They called each other vulgar names

As rain came through the screens.

The tempest finally touched the plain

As wretches laughed inside,

But wind and rain devoured Cain,

Not one allowed to hide.

The sinners in a tick of shock

Dispersed throughout the room,

And God above expelled the flock

Back toward the ocean’s womb.

She washed away their human ways,

Absorbed their every fault,

Recast them to their early days 

Of mud and blood and salt.