The Eel - Analysis

A polite opening that immediately retracts itself

The poem’s joke is built on a tiny social pose: the speaker begins with a mild, almost tolerant claim—I don’t mind eels—as if preparing to be reasonable. But that calm is instantly undercut by the qualifier Except as meals. The central claim, beneath the grin, is that eels might be acceptable at a distance, but the moment they enter human intimacy—on a plate, in the body—the speaker’s tolerance collapses.

That creates the poem’s main tension: the speaker wants to sound undisturbed, yet can’t help admitting a deep aversion. The word Except functions like a trapdoor; what looked like broad-mindedness turns into a confession of disgust.

Disgust moves from the plate to the skin

The last line—And the way they feels—sharpens the reaction from appetite to touch. Meals suggests eating, but feels suggests handling: sliminess, writhing, an animal that doesn’t hold its shape the way more familiar food does. The poem’s humor comes from how quickly it narrows from an abstract opinion about eels to the most visceral objections: eating them and touching them. Even the deliberately ungrammatical they feels adds to the childish immediacy, as if the speaker can’t be bothered to be correct while recoiling.

In three short steps—creature, food, sensation—the poem turns squeamishness into a punchline, making repulsion sound light, casual, and oddly personal.