Fishy Love

Love Song (Smelt)
By Dan Chiasson

When I say “you” in my poems, I mean you.
I know it’s weird: we barely met.
You must hear this all the time, being you.

That night we were at opposite ends of
The long table, after the pungent
Russian condiments, the carafes of tarragon vodka,

The chafing dishes full of boiled smelts
I was a little drunk: after you left,
I ate the last smelt off your dirty plate.

And now for the travesty – as usual by Big Frank:

Mussel Song (Love)
By Big Frank Dickinson

When I leave it unsaid in my poems, I mean you.
It’s entirely understandable – for you.
After all so much went unsaid, being us.

Sitting in the corner (where the TV used to be)
in the house turned into an Italian Restaurant,
you ordered mussels after glasses of some kind of red,

They arrived wet; sent back . . returned dry.
You offered me one at the end.
I tried to eat – but, it wouldn’t open.