Monkfish

He looked up, mouth open, from a bed of ice
in the English Market. I found myself
staring morbidly at his flat
face, his teeth frozen
into a smile. You
brought
one
straight
off the boat.
I harvested flesh
below the eyes, severed
the head, struggled with the tail
as the slimy film slipped over the chopping board.
It almost filled a crate, but you wouldn’t take anything for it.