The New Year
A pull,
to the very end of the beach’s curve,
to the rock tipped great wide wingspan,
the finish of the pale stretch of sand.
We set out
the line gripped in my hand
drawn by the promise
of the capture of a meal.
I untangle my line
along with my thoughts
it’s a chase
it’s a wait
then it’s a pull pull pull
evasive, slick, slippery but
caught
it carries the dark
of the ocean on its skin
but I’m probably imagining the depths
in its eyes.
A body heavy as rain.
I stick my knife into its gills
one more jerk then it stills,
its body and a feeling of
guilt both settling
under my hands.
My needs are
simple I think I
should stick to that
more often.
Back at the hut
scales come off easy, and pile up
fresh white flesh spits back from the
pan, well-fed smiles in the dark
there is no other way
I would rather have seen in the new year.
Charles Ross
Year 12
Logan Park High School, Dunedin
