Fishing with Feathers
He’d promised feathering for fish - a line,
six hooks disguised by poultry fluff - a trick
the fish believed in without fail, no skill.
We dipped, and hauled a bucketful so fast,
it was as if the sea had had enough
of shine and flicker, turn and twist. A gift?
The trick reversed. Our hunger quickly dulled
by stink of guts, attack by scales, the glut’s
revenge. That night the sea was polished flint.
We took the bucket to the shore and watched
the dead fish float away like stars.
Page(s) 32
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