Fish Knives

See those emptied fish on
their brine-washed blocks
sitting gutted – white flesh
worth cashing in – net sale

captures – now is my quiet
time of gasps – in my slow
drowning [in bracing air] &
gulls will stab over insides

& guts picked from foams
in this trawler’s wake/ Eye
me up once my blood has
been rinsed & returned for

a final sea-watering down/
Quick wing-dipping-on by
plummets & calls in flight/
This is our hauled removal

as we tip into ice-packings
among others equally split/
Slit of knife sang a’sweetly
among rough sea shanties