Poetry: Crustacea

At the bare, brackish bottom of the deepest oceans in the world,
Small, dark things scurry and hurry about their business,
Sometimes stopping for a cordial tip of the hat or without stopping issue a smile
On the run or a dirty little double-take, just because and despite life-mates.
Who knew? How could we? This is thousands of miles beneath McDonald's,
Monetary woes, and masturbation we're talking about after all.