By Richard Mather
I
Paralyzed by a glob
of toxic spittle,
the lobster makes a fine meal
for the octopus
whose hard beak stabs the shell.
(A fisherman fingers
a long-handled blade,
rolls a cigarette,
chops herbs and garlic
by a charcoal fire.)
If disturbed
by a shark or stingray,
the octopus will vanish
in a puff of ink or contort
its boneless body
into the colours of a coral reef.
II
Dozing in the sun,
the fisherman dreams
of a knife entering
soft hulk, dreams
of bleached meat
drying in the Polynesian sun.
(In a watery crook,
the octopus
seals shut
the cave’s mouth,
lays her eggs.)
The fisherman awakes
and stabs the sea
with a spear, draws up
a pretty mollusc.
He tenderises it
with the skill of one
who has spent his life
pounding carcass
against stone.
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