Babe, you lost a toe on the catamaran.

The sea swept it up and chewed it down to the bone.

The only thing left is the blood on the deck

and the bird that pecked ‘til it was hacked

off and spat into the big blue.

It’s what Cinderella said in those grim tales

when her sisters chopped and flailed.

But you didn’t need to do such a thing.

No one would have known it was the wrong fit.

I guess it’s the thought that counts, 

not the spit in your drink.

It’s what you thought when it happened

but you thought nothing at all, only

that a toll was in progress and

you had to pay to stall me, so I didn’t leave.

The price of a toe isn’t much

but a handicap is expensive.

What are we to do

with a limp and an ocean full.

Hungered for meat and satiated

by the small misgiving you accidentally gave

but the seagull did most of the work

at the end of the day.