That which boils a lobster’s bum is not even a spot in the pot; you cannot fry lobster!
This escape could use a pinch of a better plan, though, as the ocean is out of view, meaning reaching it will likely require a ‘phew’ or two.
There seems to be some kitchen kitsch over there; I wonder if it may be a safe place to hide if pincers are kept very still.
Hmmm. That smells nice. Whence is that aroma? It seems to be coming from–my smoldering tail! Curse the daevas who cannot give meat a break!
The balladmonger in me cannot help but think, as options are stewed:
The red crustacean.
Been fed frustration.
Damn silver kettle.
Tests claw-ster’s mettle.
Sea turtles oft head a straight run home, but getting off this table and out the door and, after that, likely more is a parcours for which feelings regarding may exist of remorse–unless that brine so fine is found at the end–with me worn but not worse. ; )