An Ode to Smoking Salmon

Bounty of the sea,
Pulled in from a net.
Please prep properly,
Treat gifts with respect.

Flensed for the fining,
Meat cut in small strips.
Now time for brining,
Morton’s bag unzips.

Dunk your catch deeply,
Salty cleansing bath.
Alders burn cleanly,
Plucked from trail and path.

Hung up by wax string,
Arms spread overhead.
Light-headed we sing,
Of fish bled and dead.

Leave them for a week,
Keep home-fires burning.
Try hard not to peek,
While hearts are yearning.

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