It lies on its shell, raw,
wet, and shiny. With a hint
of violence, I stab it

with a three-pronged fork,
slather it with cocktail sauce,
and lay it on a cracker.

As I ease it jiggling
to my tongue, it flares
my nostrils with the scent

of the sea. When I close
my eyes and bite, is it
the oyster I eat? Or you?


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