It hurts me when people determine you are aggressive
They poke with clumsy rummaging through your home
Vivid blue, contrasting red shell and spines,
all hold mystery and there’s power in your claws
raised high while you hiss your discontent, or fear
Do you ever yearn to stay in your winter burrow of rocks
even on an infinite summer’s day?
To retreat as another invasion of cameras,
walking boots and khaki shorts noisily
agitate for the best angle of your precious life?
The rain comes and against the grey stones,
unexpected beauty and colour splashed with water
shines brilliant anti-camouflage armour
Yet, inside that rare strength of Lamington Blue
is soft, scarce, vulnerable, crayfish flesh.
The blue mountains of the caldera seem reflected in your shell and
molten rocks remembered in the red stripes along your side
The rim’s shield, this caldera of beginning and your shield
can be broken, destroyed until all are gone,
until nothing remains and there’s no place to live
Your iridescent existence recorded only in books or pictures
as a calamity of loss and the shields of both gone forever