you smear haldi,
groping the fish
like a beggar grasping at coin.
each fleshy slice
similar to tree rings
smothered in salt
and cast into the plastic tuber ware casket
blood still red near the bone.
already you fantasize about every delectable dish
mustard seed on your tongue,
meanwhile, I stare at the eyes, not queasy,
scales clinging to my shoes.