A poem by Beverly Stock.
© George Tsartsianidis | Dreamstime.com
In Sardinia, one sight to be seen,
Is a massive school of silver Sardines.
Canned, they fall short of Haute Cuisine.
They look much smaller when man intervenes,
Filets in water or oil, no space in-between
Jaws removed- faceless figurines,
Fish packed tight in tins, shiny clean,
Freshly returned from the guillotine.
In Asia and Europe, sardine snacks are routine,
And considered as healthy as a US soybean.
Living in the beauty of life that’s marine,
Inexpensive protein, no fat, just lean.
Long ago, Mom and I ate canned sardines-
Piled upon freshly opened saltines.
Mother and I both went grey as teens.
I think there’s a link to the clum* in sardines!
*edible innards