i suppose that there's always something happening in the back,
unlike my other salmonic voyages,
it was a something of a something, not just a little something.
when i was in the back of the market,
picking out tartar sauces and lemons,
i'd see this gigantic black guy through the rubber-lined window in the two-inch thick door that led to the business part of the davidson fish market.
a lot of times, he was lifting these huge boxes,
he'd bend down and treat us voyeurs to a halibutt,
that was lester,
walking in and out of view.
after he put a box down
(it was usually a box of glass bottles-
glass is heavy, and can be broken)
lester moseyed over to where i could see him.
his cheeks would puff up with a deep breath, his (meshed, cerulean) hat in his left hand,
lester simultaneously let out a deep breath and wiped his brow with the back of his right hand.
at a place i frequent,
the davidson fish market,
this was the normal, daily routine.
i'm checking out
in more ways than one
(i was buying swordfish noses and yellowtail)
and i hear a great commotion rising from the lobster tank.
i gallantly told the college cashier to wait at the register
while i armed myself with a swordfish nose and ran off past the mussels and oysters.
what a sight to behold!
what a shock
dangling from the ceiling of the business part of the fish market
a disco ball.
to see streamers in four shades of pink hanging from the loading bay
(in the back of my field of vision.)
my surprise would have been negligible when i saw lester reaching into the lobster tank
and throwing lobsters into a steel garbage can ten feet away-
were he not
decked out in tight red leather pants
a pink knitted sweater
a bobby blond wig
and three inch red hot-tamale fake fingernails.
powerless, befuddled, consterned,
i sat indian style on the floor and poked the swordfish nose
into containers of breadcrumbs,
thinking, "shit," confusedly, as though there were a double vowel and the "i" was an "e."
a funny thing happened today at the davidson fish market.
lester lost it.