Mark Roper
		 
	
		line no sooner down than taut
	
		     shadow silvering into air
	
		desperate fruit all wriggle
	
		     and twitch snapped off
	
		slapped in a plastic crate
	
		     fading to layers of leaves
	
		knives out guts chucked
	
		     to an instant coven of gulls
	
		heads scarfed whole
	
		     sea a boil of snatch and scream
	
		fillets home in a bucket
	
		     fried in their own oil
	
		all night my head full
	
		     of saltwater skin sun
	
		flesh feather beak bone
	
		     so little between us