Poem about cyanide fishing in the Philippines. In imitation of Ted Hughes, the scumbag.
Her shadow fell upon the reef. Drifting
Deep, into the cold. Dragged down the long
Smooth net to lie,
Asleep, among the fishes.
The seaweed hides the toxic flecks, aglitter
In the moon-lit night. The diver rests upon
The rock to check her gauge and slow her breath.
She tells herself it will be quick.
No screams to claw at her young soul.
She tells herself to set the snare,
And draw them from their silent home.
Their bodies gleam upon the shore.
Their gliding oils coat her hands.
She strips them of their sheathes of skin,
And draws a line from head to fin.
A swell is formed, of stacks and bones
Sharp-cut-spines gouged from their flesh.
Their eyes are split before the end, piled high,
In record time.
She chokes and sputters on her tears
She wipes her knife on bloody rags.
Her cuts and stings are cleaned in salt,
And left to dry.
She throws a match upon the heap
And warms her heart, next to the blaze.