The sea's the right place for a finned one's fun,
To cavort with seahorse and fugu.
I went for the snack; line never went slack--
Why not pot-feu?!*

My home's near an isthmus
That's Panama-y.
Fishing boats give whistle blows
And press on, out to sea.

Skippers seek to find me
With landlubber team.
Hoisted from a gill net
To hold, cold as ice cream.

[implement-honing interlude]

I'll be boned for Christmas,
Then they'll pan-fry me.
Slit'll show, I'm missing roe
My genders "he," not "she"!

Christmas eve, they'll fry me
In sherry, light cream.
I'll be boned for Christmas;
They trolled and hooked this bream.


*pot-au-feu: boiled meat and vegetables, with the broth served separately