Sunday, March 22, 2009


I am:

Echidna, armadillo, crab, puffa-fish, stegasaurus, snapped shut, tight, armoured, prickly, defensive.

Sudden shut down. Sudden backing away. Next time I will not be tricked out into the clearing. Next time I will see the hook and lure and know it for what it is.

Meanwhile the fisherman launches out into the water once more, flies that are strengthened tried, true, girls that loll in the water, vaginas upturned and spouting like the breath of whales. Girls that are not yet suspicious as I am. Wet pink girl flesh, hungry for the hook and tear.

But you are only fishing for sport. You will not pick and gut and carry. They are suspended for a moment on your boat, drugged by the heady mix of adrenalin and your bait. They kick, slither closer. You have the tail in hand, gloved hand, all of you armoured from the start of this. You will not be hurt, spiked, cut or dragged out into deep water. You are afraid of deep water. Safe in your boat, you fling the soft skinned creatures back, turn the vessel around. Head for another part of the river. There are always more fish.


watch you go, stronger, more wiley with each abandoned catch.

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