Hey, what about all that they ate
As fillets of us filled their plate
They’d gobble, enjoying each bite
Unaware of our personal plight
That schools now of Finger Mark Bream
And Queenfish and Snapper are grim.
There’s a Kingdom of Neptune Alert
That a guy in a checked flannel shirt
Has buttered some nice crusty bread
And with it he serves, it is said,
A bouillabaisse fishysoisse soup
Just full of the weak of our group
Who moved through the oceans too slow
And spotting his lure, had a go.
We’ve notified Mackeral from Spain,
(We’ve warned them again and again)
To shun every sight of his line
Lest they be invited to dine.
They eat us with lemon and chips
(That batter will broaden their hips!)
They’ll BBQ up a few more,
Wasabi our Tuna fish, raw.
Then homeward these gluttons will wend
And message to Neptune will send
“Well, thanks you’re an excellent host –
But nothing beats mother’s lamb roast.’
1992
THE CRYPTIC LIMPET 