Bait fed out there, like jazz hands on the lagoon
I had to take a closer look. The gobies on the sand scattered
before me until the water kissed my shorts, but still
the spark meandering frenzy stayed away.
Something was chasing them, or circling under them.
The sheen of water kept knowledge at bay. I was tempted
by what, or whom, to increase my vantage by climbing
up a jutting rock, but the late sun kept the water dark.
Then something darker, and in motion, I fell back,
and shouting splashed away. In the foreground, at my feet
had flown a scheming spotted eagle ray, spineless
as I noted quickly, though its eye said get out, these are not
your fish, its gentle wings waved back to me, when
safe on shore, I heard the susurrus of bait once more.
Lucas Smith is a writer from Gippsland and California. His work has appeared in Australian Poetry Journal, The Lifted Brow, Southerly, The Rialto and elsewhere.
