Touching the cod in sensitive places

Jeb flouted the seafood molestation act.

He’d been an overt ocean rebel

since those days juggling tentacles

at the underground Caspian Circus.

He’d kiss a large fish shamelessly in public, refusing to quiver,

suffering the salty rebuke of many a fish-fond mayor

calling ‘lips off!’, shaking their staff,

lifting long, cylindrical mayoral hats

and whistling for club-happy enforcement legions

to jog across the cobblestones.

Then in the cellar holding pen he’d

resolutely write in dark diaries the truth of

a fish in the hand and dark heads in the town.

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