I am a crisp prawn battered by history:
An aborted life drenched in briny seasoning,
In a Dead Sea where my soft skin was scratched
Into an impenetrable exterior.

One day Fortune – who always cuts the
crusts off sandwiches – slurped up my insides
and left my tough backbone behind.
Spine stretched into the foetal position and
Legs and arms tucked under

Later, I was awakened from my deep abode
To strange tall shrimps with their flesh on display.
They scooped me up and kept me in a glass case
But uncrunched unslurped I lay there mocking them -
A usurper of Time, ready to pierce their teethy grins with my shell.

© Eva Irvine