I Eat the Fins

by Henry Hughes

When the dam went up
we all got rich on water skis and worms.
Light bill so low
we could drink ‘till dawn.
A lake, a reservoir. Deeper than Hell
and named for a president.
Look how them silvers love
the spillway. Come a hundred miles on sex. Bubble high,
nose to the concrete. Schools so thick
every casts a fish.
Out of the white bucket,
scaled and gutted, the sweet bass bounce
and bubble-twist in the Fry Daddy’s steel cage.
Up on the plate with lemon and tarter,
we eat.
And when the soft white meat’s gone,
I eat the fins,
crunch ‘em like gold chips,
the salty ridged remains
of position and power.


Henry Hughes is the author of two books of poetry, Men HoldingEggs and Moist Meridian.

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