Steam, Murder, Scream

Docile Live lobsters Packed in a wax box Grab them by their smooth body Where there are no spikes Their eyes are black tubes They feel the pressure of your fingers Grasp Those eyes move independently Bugging around Their arms splay Trying to shred your forearm with their claw Rubber banded immobile, unable to open, Flapping their tail Frantic, Primal, instinctive movements, Fear and scurry and anger and confusion Place them in a perforated pan One by one Sixteen in all Wonder what they're thinking Their bodies of armor shuffle, clinking You can hear their heart pulse If you hold one to your ear Feel it too Through your latex glove As you warm the steamer oven Steam burns are the worst kind of pain And that they have no central nervous system Is a myth, you know that all too well, Ovens ready Their eyes are resting now You slide them in Shut the hatch Turn the dial to twelve minutes Exhale as the boiling rush expels, showering, Turn Take a step And in your mind You hear them scream