Topshe Fish with Eggs

Though not a bird, you have attractive wings.

Your every limb is juicy, sweet.

Your flavour, once it fills the mouth,

makes other food taste like goo.

Cleaning you, scrubbing the scales, takes a while.

Can I have you raw? Right now, please?

To behold you is to forget even the son who’s died.

A whiff of you is a whole meal.

I buy you fresh, twenty at a time.

And eat you fast, deep fried in hot oil.