“The King of Crawdads” by Matthew Haughton

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Snatched from the waters
of God Knows,
(somewhere behind
an abandoned mill
out in the country)
he emerged
with a hook buried
deep within his gut,
a great, lurking
creature meant not
for this world.
Larger than a softball,
he clinched
each pincher,
as we ogled him
in the darkness.
He said: Behold,
for I am the king
of crawdads,
look upon me,
there are stirrings
within these depths
you will never know.
His decree
was not enough
to keep my friend
from slicing
him like a grapefruit,
so we could
put his divine
appendages to use
as tempting bait.
The rest of the night,
his subjects
took the opportunity
to dig in,
as if he were
some fascist dictator,
devoured on a street.

-Matthew Haughton

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