Either Direction

I dive for oysters nightly, hard to reach.
I’ve had a taste, but they’ve no taste for me.
Their points of irritation line my beach,
so take this pearl, and hurl it in the sea.
All pearls, no oysters–every one a pearl–
their insides sandy, swollen, bitter meat.
I’ve jewels of every color for a girl,
but not a tender bit at all to eat.
Perhaps, I’ll string a rosary or two
and pray either direction for release
from Midas’ curse, before it claims you, too,
or trade the lot for two mussels apiece.
I guess I might begin an art exchange,
although, my gifts have virtue to derange.