When the fisherman rock on their boats in the sea,
after pulling in a hard day with a big catch of crabs
ready to be shipped to Red Lobster for the next meal,
I sneak out of the house, my bare feet digging
into the powder moist sand. I crawl up the steps
of the boardwalk to keep from tripping down
and falling into the sand below, but most importantly,
to avoid splinters in my toes. Landing isn't as soft
as I would like, since I miss the bottom step,
but I don't linger on it long. Armed with a flashlight,
a bucket, and a net, I set off for my own crab hunt.
The little white ones are the hardest to spot,
as they dash across the sea hardened sand,
to find a hole that is probably not theirs,
but they all seem to understand.
I step as softly as possible, to keep from alarming them.
With my light glancing around, back and forth,
I finally spot a big one. The big ones scare me a bit,
because they could actually hurt if they got my hand.
But this hunt is not for the faint of heart, I decide,
and bolt after him. He didn't have time to blink before my net
came down and trapped him into the little pithole in the ground.
With a scoop and a gentle flick he lands in my bucket,
which still has some sea water in the bottom.
I look on with satisfaction as he crawls around in fright.
First one of the night and there are so many more to go.
Little pale ghost crabs always crawl along the midnight floor.
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