Carp in the cut.

five, long, as big as pigs

rolling down by limehouse way,
round in the tum like a tub,
in boiled broth, grey-green as
lukewarm bathwater, trolleys and all,

keen in the virile chase.

four males I’d say, if a gambler,
not near caught, snagged or poached,
fat shadows over roach and trash,
stalked with a fly, by, the bullish boars

would roar if they could, over traffic, by commerical.