Bethells Beach, January 2009.
A sunny fine day
Waiting for the gently grazing sea,
To Belch forth from its swollen belly
the warriors’ son.
Sacrificed for a brother.
A week before a fisherman was lost,
the fishes' turn to feed for a day.
And a lesson learnt in reverse.
Along the beach, an old blind man,
in jeans and black t-shirt
And an older one-legged man,
in response to the Sphinx's question, walking on four legs –
Two wise men in search of the third,
and maybe there is a reward for the recovered body.
They are attempting to cross the stream
That runs like an umbilical cord between the land and the sea
In the older man's pocket a cell phone rests
About to spew forth from the ether news
Of his grandson’s emergence into the world
Through C section, like a fish out of water.
The men, sons, brothers, fathers grandfathers, both,
Carefully cut through the stream
without leaving a trace
Fishies in the Water
Dave pokes his head in.
- What’s the good news Dave?
The good news? Chocolate fish can’t swim.
- Chocolate fish can’t swim? Bummer.
OK. How about: You can’t ride a menstrual cycle...?
But you can Dave, it’s called a red herring.
Dave withdraws.
Do you think he talks like that because he’s Catholic?
Maybe. Don’t you think you’re a bit rough on him though?
Well just maybe I thought he was talking about you when he mentioned chocolate fish.
You’re brown, you can’t swim and you smell
In that case I’m sure he must think you’re a cross between a red herring and whitebait.
Let me guess – I’m pakeha, have red hair and I ride a bike
Close – because you’re a bloody wanker
True bro, don’t tell Dave.
Nah, she’s sweet – he already knows.
