My father always lets me release one crab from the pot they bring home from crabbing. Just one. I wish I could let them all go. But to be fair crabs are delicious and my protest of not going seems valid enough. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, I get to choose the feistiest crab from the bucket and set them free in the ocean. Not many crabs were caught this year and I was instructed to choose a small female, essentially myself in crab form.


She was wild and angry. I put her in a tiny pot and she thrashed and jumped the whole way to the beach. When my legs were in the water up to my knees, I looked at her and said these words.


I picked you.
I wish it could have been everyone,
But I picked you
because, someday, If I
am stuck in a bucket
piled with people
and some regretful
girl can only pick one
I hope she picks me.


and with that I sent her flailing into the sea.


Share a poem about an illogical tradition that means something. Write about how the illogical is logical and necessary.