The Slab

The drip and the cold,
The wet and the white,
And the voices, the whispering, the questions.
Where was I from?
How long dead?
How long since they took me from the water?
They look at my eyes,
My mouth,
My skin.
My guts have gone already.
And tomorrow?……..
I stink, therefore I am.
Who says a haddock has no sole?


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