the fish monger knew fish. 
Knew it down to skin and bone- 
Knew it everyday- as spray and brine and wet.

The slap and cut 
upon his block- 
His metronome, 
his tide.

and were you to ask- 
Hey! What's your thing? 
What's your hobby-horse? 
What's your kick and gas?
He'd answer with a glance and grin
towards his list and price today-

Why penmanship- of course!

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