Lobsters, I’m told
have no natural ending.
Back when they were frowned upon
not worth the water that would cook them
they’d become so large they’d horrify
the mind.

But somewhere
someone said,
 “delicious.”
and quickly,
we found the strength to overcome
building giant machines to scoop
them off the seabed
like clams from a shell.
We subjugated them
harvested them
until nothing of the monster was left but
these tiny little things you could pick up
one hand.

Now, bigger ones,
unimpressive youth in the shadow of their ancestors
are kept safe
on pedestals
where we can catch
a glimpse of those past monsters
through a cage of glass
beneath fluorescent lights.
A circus thing
alone and delicious.