Smoked Fish Pie

In blue and almost white, the willow pattern
Circles round the top half of the bowl,
Encrusted where the lapping tide of cheese
Has melted in the scent of apple wood,
Imparted it to carrot mashed with spud,
And added extra fat and golden glow
And glistening gilding, sizzling to flatten
The moon like face and flavour it
In answer to the mackerel, which lies layered,
Swimming in a sea of milk and mace,
Crushed peppercorns of red, black, green and white,
Made powder in the gaudy, bright, brass pestle,
Punctuate potato, speckle carrot,
Whose orangeness out does the mackerel;
Its amber-ochre  colour artificial,
Its silver underneath repulsive skin,
Reminiscent of its life and vulnerability,
Being slippery and slithery and thin.