Entertaining the Oyster
You offer fresh oysters from Bluff
and say it’s impossible to eat enough.
These mucous eyes look back at me;
yes, of course, I can smell the sea
but I cannot possibly let even one
slip down my principled throat.
Sprinkle them with juice from a lime.
Disguise the taste with violent sauce.
Hide these ugly clots inside a batter.
Here is the matter—
These grey hoicks you believe
to be a proven aphrodisiac
signal an attack of antipathy.
Genuflect before these salty icons,
drool and salivate, but, if you care
for my friendship, wait until I leave
before you order another plate.