Oh, my sweet Christ!
It is 05:47am
How bad is that smell, Rob?
Mate, you wouldn’t credit it!
We are in the ute going to the Heads
And open water for snapper, kingfish
Any fish at all likely none
Who cares that smell Rob!
My Christ mate!
Bloody oath!
The boat hanging off the back
Me and Rob, hanging out the windows
We are gasping for air.
And laughing like fucking idiots
Wretching and laughing
At the foolishness of fishing at 5am
The bait, that rotten squid
Was in the Tupperware
All day yesterday.
On the dashboard in the sun
At the jetty in the boat
In the silent pitch black
Still smote by that smell
Me and Rob in the morning
Our engine kicks in
We head out through the Heads
Out spines pounded back
Into the boat by wall after wave
Relief! Oh Christ! Relief
We’re out into open water
The Quarantine station
Is long gone behind us
More waves like walls
Spines kicked
Mouths shut.
That sea, that light, that sunlight!
Over goes that fucking squid
Overboard to float and feed
Our smokoe starts and coffee
Fresh and fragrant and freeing
Oh, my Christ!
It is 05:45 in Englan
Nicole is calling with some news
And might I make my way back soon?
Your cancer, Rob, stinks worse
Than any sunburned squid
It’s rotten, corrupt, corrupting
Tentacles reached into you
“He’s doing well”
Oh my Christ!
“He’s in remission”
Oh my sweet Christ!
“He wants to go fishing”
Her voice is calmer than us ever
I am crying so much that
Kingfish could swim my in my tears
All the way back to the boat.
