Mike Connor
January 10th, 2004, 05:36 PM
I am not a salmon farmer, Iīm a salmon farmers son,
and although I am quite wealthy, I donīt have much fun,
the seas are slowly dying, there are no more wild fish,
fin and mouth disease run riot, it looks lousy on a dish.
no matter what some folk believe, my father knew heīd failed,
when his first son was born with fins, and very brightly scaled.
Of course he never realised, that such things would come to pass,
all the scientific studies were ignored, just to make some brass,
Medicines and hormones, were added to the salmonīs food,
no one quite believed, that this, would also damage human brood,
some fish were bred genetically, and the results were quite fantastic,
they were large and round and finless, and tasted just like plastic.
Who could know that this would happen, that we would come to grief?
after all, fish breeding, is a completely different thing to breeding beef.
It seemed quite logical at first, to feed the fish on all the various waste,
chemicals were also then required, to reduce the stress, thus on them
placed,
we made lots of money, as did our banks, and all the other sponsors,
but we had to sell fish fingers then, we could not sell the complete
monsters.
There were fish with legs and arms and feet, and many with disease,
but ground up fine, and paste extruded, nobody noticed these,
filleted, smoked, and packaged, bright pink in see-through cellophane,
well preserved of course, with salt and other stuff, all except the brain,
spines and brains we had to burn, ( although some ground them up as well),
and what we then received at last, were creatures straight from hell.
My father sold the business then, just put it up for grabs,
and tried to start another, selling mussels shrimps and crabs.
This went well for quite a while, but then he had to pause,
for his second son, my brother, was born with shell and claws.
as I write this, finning slowly in my bath of saline water,
I wonder how things might have been, if he had had a daughter?
Indeed, I ponder often on the way these things transpired,
and curse the day that farmers to such things were inspired,
lying here all wet and cold and slimy, is just not very funny,
and all because some greedy men, desired to make more money.
Itīs hard to be a farmerīs son, and oftentimes I wish,
that my ancestors had had more sense, and not manipulated fish.
TL
MC
and although I am quite wealthy, I donīt have much fun,
the seas are slowly dying, there are no more wild fish,
fin and mouth disease run riot, it looks lousy on a dish.
no matter what some folk believe, my father knew heīd failed,
when his first son was born with fins, and very brightly scaled.
Of course he never realised, that such things would come to pass,
all the scientific studies were ignored, just to make some brass,
Medicines and hormones, were added to the salmonīs food,
no one quite believed, that this, would also damage human brood,
some fish were bred genetically, and the results were quite fantastic,
they were large and round and finless, and tasted just like plastic.
Who could know that this would happen, that we would come to grief?
after all, fish breeding, is a completely different thing to breeding beef.
It seemed quite logical at first, to feed the fish on all the various waste,
chemicals were also then required, to reduce the stress, thus on them
placed,
we made lots of money, as did our banks, and all the other sponsors,
but we had to sell fish fingers then, we could not sell the complete
monsters.
There were fish with legs and arms and feet, and many with disease,
but ground up fine, and paste extruded, nobody noticed these,
filleted, smoked, and packaged, bright pink in see-through cellophane,
well preserved of course, with salt and other stuff, all except the brain,
spines and brains we had to burn, ( although some ground them up as well),
and what we then received at last, were creatures straight from hell.
My father sold the business then, just put it up for grabs,
and tried to start another, selling mussels shrimps and crabs.
This went well for quite a while, but then he had to pause,
for his second son, my brother, was born with shell and claws.
as I write this, finning slowly in my bath of saline water,
I wonder how things might have been, if he had had a daughter?
Indeed, I ponder often on the way these things transpired,
and curse the day that farmers to such things were inspired,
lying here all wet and cold and slimy, is just not very funny,
and all because some greedy men, desired to make more money.
Itīs hard to be a farmerīs son, and oftentimes I wish,
that my ancestors had had more sense, and not manipulated fish.
TL
MC