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u'Four crabs from the cold firth<br>alive for a shilling. The largest<br>reared in the pot, in spite of<br>the fierce water, but soon<br>we cracked his limbs with our teeth<br>and wheedled with spoons and fingers<br>for the last shreds of flesh<br>from the crannies of his briny body.<br><br>In that brittle maze<br>I found no features to remind me<br>of our brains, our livers<br>or our smooth bellies, yet doubtless<br>their functions were held by some part<br>of the paste of his cavities.<br><br>Spread, soup and risotto \u2013<br>only the gills were rejected.<br><br>In the days we ate him<br>I did not forget<br>his moment on the floor<br>to amuse the baby, when she<br>gloated at the slow clash<br>of his last menace,<br>nor that shape which made me think<br>of a soft soldier<br>fried in the cockpit of a tank.<br><br>Angus Calder'
