Alright, Fellas.
Pay heed. Here’s what we do.
How it works.
When the fishers come in
from their season,
are done with the catch,
collect the scraps.
They’ll save ‘em for us.
But it’s the heads we want.
Plant long rows
in the red, pungent soil
and water, water, water.
When the crop matures–
you can tell by the
vinegar shine–
we harvest the lot
and take it to the ocean
or river,
wherever they took ‘em from,
last year’s heads,
and release.
All of it.
Then call the fishers.
Let ‘em know.
They’ll prepare the boats.
Jeff Parent
Jeff Parent was born in Montréal in a Monday. He is some kind of poet. A recent graduate of Concordia University’s with an MA in Creative Writing and English Literature, his poems have been published by The Fiddlehead, The League of Canadian Poets, The Quarantine Review, Shrapnel Magazine, Train: A Literary Journal, and The/tƐmz/Review amongst several others. His work was recently shortlisted for Pulp Literature’s Magpie Award for Poetry, FreeFall Magazine’s annual poetry contest, and The Malahat Review’s Open Season contest. Jeff’s first chapbook, “This Bygone Route”, was published in 2020 by 845 Press. He lives in Nova Scotia.