The whale dives
Faster than drowning's plumbline,
Into the sonar's depths
Where the light is compressed into darkness.
As the yard-rule goes,
He's monstrous -
An uncouth combatant
Labouring in turmoil with the giant squid -
And yet he's sensitive
To creation's amperage, scrimshaw's saga,
And the swirl of angstroms
Circulating his brain.

Today, I find his skull
On the floor of the art gallery.
A child
Could curl up inside this housing:
His comprehension
Could swallow any adult whole.

Behind me,
In the darkness,
He rises, unharmed,
From the depths of nitrogen narcosis.
A harpoon lances across the light.
The projector runs methodically
Through the last frame,
But we can already predict the ending.

Is it fun to eat whales? Or does guilt kick in and spoil the experience? If you want to eat whalemeat, do you have to murder your own whale, or is there another way?
Click for the answers!

Blood, raw meat, shameless juiciness on display ... whalemeat in the fish market ... Click here for photo of the meat of a murdered whale!