28. Toothfish: He's Sick of Being Back

He's tired.  He's drunk the blood of hundreds,
left a trail of empty hulls
from port to port.  The ships he's plundered
open their entrails to the gulls.
So many dead, and still no mobsters.
He's through with men.  He'll switch to lobsters,
become a chef and stuff his days
with lobscouse, bisque, and bouillabaisse.
His skin still stings with steel, still itches
where fragmentary fishhooks hack
the heavy leather of his back,
but now he's done.  Goodbye to scratches!
Goodbye harpoons! Goodbye police!
Hello the eastern coast of Greece!