Crab Feast (8th Hour 2020)-acrostic poem

Maritime crustaceans making their way to our stomachs

As we crack a few shells and throw the filth in a bucket.

Ready and available, we summon the spices

You know, the butter, the old bay and any other that entices.

Lo and behold, do not forget about the citrus beer

A surmountable amount is always revered.

Never too much to pile on the broken legs

Demolishing those last is the only way.

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