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Mackerel
Mark Roper
line no sooner down than taut
shadow silvering into air
desperate fruit all wriggle
and twitch snapped off
slapped in a plastic crate
fading to layers of leaves
knives out guts chucked
to an instant coven of gulls
heads scarfed whole
sea a boil of snatch and scream
fillets home in a bucket
fried in their own oil
all night my head full
of saltwater skin sun
flesh feather beak bone
so little between us
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