The Crayfish

The mucky bottom of a lake
A rock, a net, imagination,
And patience; all it takes to trap
The freedom of a living creature.
A quick-learned lesson--when she taps
The crayfish, anywhere, it jets
Backwards.  She learns, observing nature
As though a part of it.  Taking
Another net, she taps and swipes
Till perseverance pays in capture.
"Good job," they say, and "Way to go!"
She drops it in a plastic bucket
That's green, just barely wide enough
To hold the crayfish's length, and short
Enough that any crayfish climbing
Could find its way over the rim.
She brought her friends, with sticks and nets
To tease the captured crayfish.  When
They poke, it must go backwards, but
It couldn't go--it beat and pounded
The sides because it couldn't help
Itself.  She brought bologna for
Its supper-all lake creatures eat
Bologna-left it in this land-lake
Overnight--and wondered why
It wouldn't swim the next morning.

--Barbara E. Prater, 1998