The dead seal,
in a shallow grave,
Just beyond the tideline.
Its putrefaction had reached such a level
That the thin covering of pebbles, shingle and stones
Cannot contain the foetor.
Maisie, my dog detected the smell.
The taste is irresistible.
The flavour I cannot imagine.
A few scratches,
Nudges with her nose
And blubbery strands are exposed.
Ripping the stinking meat
From the carcass
Was easy.
She knows she is doing wrong
She cannot stop,
Lovely.
~
In Iceland, the meat of rotting shark, Hákari is considered a delicacy, the national dish.
Maisie is on to something.
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