The Oyster's Lament (Poetry)

Only a shellfish
down on the seabed
minding my business
I open and close
to feed when I will

Currents run fickle
streaming above me
jostle and tickle
I raise my lid slow
and feel something slip

in over my lip
foreign — unwelcome
a sharp piece of grit
however I spit
I can’t eject it

I roll it around
secretions adhere
cover and cushion
that’s how I can bear
it lodging right there

But just when I’ve grown
accustomed to share
a thief comes to steal
what I’ve made my own —
a nacreous stone