in the deep, outside Speyside;
went out to sea as usual
on the day the doctor died.
His snorkel on his shoulder
as he climbed aboard the boat;
a gale was blowing softly,
not a seagull made a note.
They set sail, the usual course,
past the reef beyond the shelf;
no one heard the conch shell call,
not even the Doc himself.
As he jack-knifed overboard
with his spear gun in his hand,
held his breath and dived deep down
as it were to touch the sand,
a creature loomed before him,
the shadow of a monster,
which as it drew nearer him,
took shape as of a grouper.
A giant of a game fish
like he never saw before;
black and brown, the speckled scales,
with a cavern for a jaw.
His heart pounding with the rush
of adrenaline and blood,
released a rubber-powered spear
with a prayer to his God.
His aim was true, the freed steel
penetrated scale and skin,
converting fish to Devil
as it plunged with tail and fin.
The cord drew taut the spear barb
in fish-flesh like a toggle;
he held on to the spear gun,
the prize was worth the struggle.
The devil-fish pulled him down
to a cave under a rock;
bruised and battered he held on,
somehow his body got stuck.
By now he was out of breath
with little strength left to fight;
try as may could not break free,
though he tried with all his might.
No one can tell his last thoughts
amidst such lethal beauty;
the sea fans waved their goodbyes
as he gulped not air but sea.
His companions searched and searched
sea and coast to no avail;
the Doc had simply vanished,
gone like Jonah in the whale.
The coroner to this day
can’t say whether
he drowned;
nothing but that he's missing,
his body was never found.
Did fisherman feed the fish?
Did hunter become the prey?
Was it a pact gone sour?
Devil-fish took him away?
They say he went a-diving
in the deep, outside Speyside;
left the whole island in grief,
no one knows just how he died.
by G. Newton V. Chance ©2010
No comments:
Post a Comment