Skye Time: Skinning a Squid

Its skin comes away in one piece,

translucent, a veil over my hand,

speckled like seaweed

with a thin azure line.

Stretching out, pulled

from the pale flesh.

I remember how its wings flowed,

diamond fins, rippling towards me

as I drew in the deadly barbs

and the invisible line in the dark sea.

Eyes are slippery orbs in the silver head,

I will keep for bait.

The tentacles still stick, holding on.

I cut the skin from the body and scrape

the mess into a bucket where it drops,

with the orbs of testes. The ink,

its purple life-blood, staining my hands.

There lies the sock of its body, milky-white

ready for crumbing and frying.

You can mince the head and innards,

freeze them in cubes for burley.

Let them enter the water once more,

dropping dead lumps to the ocean floor.

Nothing is wasted.

Skye Time