hammerhead
strolling on the tame paved Esplanade
late on an empty Monday morning
we eye a pole flexing
with the tell-tale wiggle of fish
and the man in black
with an unkempt white beard
racing to grab the rod
we pause to see
whether he’ll land it
and sure enough
the line drags heavy on the sand
with the fish’s pull
but, no, it’s not –
this shape is all angles
sharp tail
and misshapen face
we all gasp in horror
then recognition
shark
not only that but
hammerhead
the eyes like afterthoughts
on metastasized lumps of face
the mouth when the man flips the creature over
a half-moon of needles
begging to prick
but the skin feels
surprisingly smooth calm reasonable
innocent
it’s a baby
a few weeks old
and he can’t heave it
back into the aqua of Trinity Bay
too soon for my suddenly squeamish taste
