You and I hand-in-hand near Hervey Bay Marina
aluminum masts jangling in the sweet salt air
when this guy closes in - stocky
chows on Aussies like Vegemite on toast.
That grey shadow moves like a battering ram to
shake loose a limb
to chum. In sea water blood seems black.
"Oz" is one big spot of land circled by Great
and they linger at Hervey. Vic pulls up
his T-shirt to show the mark of a shark whose jaw
caught the waist
"That son-of-a-bitch got away with the taste of my blood in him.
But I've killed plenty since to make up for it."
Vic's going hunting at dusk
I imagine leaning off the bow of his trawler
like the one Robert Shaw manned in Jaws.
I think of the 20-foot White in formaldehyde
at the shark museum.
Vic points at a fourteen-foot skiff.
Your eyes catch mine.