There is a pendemonium everywhere
The old lady shrieks at how
blood sticks her shoes to the
boards. Crabs go crazy. Egrets
dive, attack the waves. Only

the shark has a sense of balance,
sliding beneath the surface, its
dorsal terrorizing. The boy draws
back his winged foot, asks his
father, "Daddy, do fish have

tongues?" The azure sky mixes
with colored entrails on the
pier, trailing its long intestine
out into the Gulf where tourists
cast lines in deep water, mouths

agape, tongues disappearing in
the backs of throats, their bones
propped on beach chairs beneath
transparent tents of peeling
skin already forming scales.