June

Truth to tell, I like the smell
Of a smoky campfire. So long
As I'm not soaked or snowed on,

I'll take the stink of woodsmoke
Over the bites of bugs and cleanliness.
I never wanted to be next

To godliness, thanks. The crab
We bought at the pier alive
Boils with applied life in death.

We're going to eat the damned thing,
Even though we don't how
To safely, properly cook it.

Just keep it boiling long enough,
Until every shell's red as fire,
Until the edible corpse floats,

And you might survive your instinct
To tear apart some plant or beast,
Some combination, to survive yourself.