Cuttlefish

Euginia Tan

in his cramped living room
the old man leans back
sweat darkening the wood
of his cane chair
he puckers his toothless gums
riffing his tongue against them
wiping off stray drool with
the back of his mottled hands

the old itch for food
in his mouth returns
like the discomfort
of ingrown toe nails
he scratches his groin
reaches for a trusty packet
of sun-dried cuttlefish
yellowed and calcified

he clasps a piece with both hands
sucking haplessly
allowing its sponginess to recline
on gum and tongue
the way he rests in his sticky chair
yearning for the fishy flavour
to linger longer, the way he pines
for visits from unmoving sons