Warrick Wynne

            Above the Victorian Fish poster,  

            (vivid illustrations of the edible denizens of the deep)

            a white spider crab mounted on a wooden board  

            pinned to the wall as it was in my childhood.

            I mean, this exact crab, legs now blackening with age  

            was in a (different) fish and chip shop of my youth,

            brought here, no doubt, with the goods and chattels

            from some former enterprise, and I recognise it:

            one giant claw open wide to snap,

            the other retracted shy, evasive

            punch and counter-punch.

            At Hector's Seafood now, the staff wear light blue tops  

            emblazoned with a yellow marlin

            rising from a vividly tropical sea.

            I wait for my flake below fading ivory claws,  

            one outrageously enlarged,

            one curled inward gently

            like an invitation, 

            or an imploring gesture to the past.