The Lobster Tank
by Veronica Tucker
At the grocery store my son asks
why the lobsters' claws are taped shut.
So they don't hurt each other, I say.
He considers this from the cart.
Then why are they together?
The man behind the seafood counter
looks up from wrapping haddock.
Nobody answers.
One lobster climbs over another,
gets halfway up the glass,
slides backward.
My son wants to know
which one we're taking home.
None of them.
He asks why they're here.
For people to buy.
Why?
To eat.
He looks at the tank.
The seafood man turns on the faucet
and rinses his knife.
At checkout my son asks
if the lobsters know.
Know what?
That somebody gets to pick.
I put the milk on the belt.
Then the eggs.
Then the chicken.
He reaches from the cart
and turns the chicken
label-side down.