Whale Blues

I watched you hang from a crane,
mouth curled in an ancient grin,
cetacean songs etched on your brain.
I saw your oiled silk skin punctured
by spiked boots, slate flesh scored
and stripped with a mincing knife,
eight feet long penis fashioned
into an amusing golf bag. I knew
that your tongue, larger than a whaling
boat, fed five thousand diners, the great
accordion pleats of your throat
no longer wheezed, fifteen thousand
pints of blood pumped no more
through arteries a man could swim in.
I noted your tail fluke flick a V
at the flensing crew who drilled a hole
in your gargantuan head, hung you high
with hawser wire, reduced the slim
spine of your ancestral line to nothing.

Jane Salmons is a teacher living and working in Stourbridge in the UK. Currently studying for an MA in Creative Writing, she has had poems published in various online magazines and journals, including The Ekphrastic Review, Ink Sweat & Tears, Algebra of Owls and The Lake. In addition to writing poetry, she enjoys creating handmade photo-montage collage and handbound books. On occasion she has been known to sell her work at vintage and craft fairs.

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