PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

William had three brothers as roommates, they lived in a beach house in Delray Beach, Florida. They had parties, I was invited. One Saturday, mid-afternoon, we were at the beach house, there were probably 15 people there, and everything was going as usual. By way of taking a break from the frolicking beach bunnies and stoners, William suggested that we go snorkeling. Off we went.

The water was maybe fifty yards from the front deck. We waded in, walking backwards in fins, the water was how it always is, warm. Underwater in South Florida is nothing special, basically a sloping, sandy bottom occasionally interrupted by a rock or two. This time, there was a wrinkle in the usually sedate experience. A small school of fishes were streaking past us almost immediately; the source of their scurrying was a small shark in search of a late lunch. When sharks are born, they come out of the womb ready to hunt, fully formed, fully functional. They have teeth, eyes, appetites and all; miniature versions of mom and dad. Whyever it happened, the little predator (14-16 inches long) passed about two feet from William’s face, and he just grabbed it. Reflexively, quickly, he found himself gripping the thing’s tail and all associated trouble. The shark, no doubt, fearing he would end up some human’s lunch, had the most appropriate reaction. The little jaws on the ‘unheld’ end suddenly became big and noisy, a peculiar ‘clap, clap, clap’ chatter. The teeth were about 6 inches from William’s surprised expression; the mini-shark now bent into a very dynamic banana shape, all business and all concerned with self-defense and freedom. The most impressive sight I saw underwater that day were William’s eyes becoming the size of sea turtles, and all of his air leaving his lungs in dramatic fashion, filling his mask and the area around his head in one big cloud of panicked bubbles. Simultaneously, he loosed the shark, which happily took off into the depths, probably wondering the primordial equivalent of ‘What the…?’

I had a similar release of air, though all my bubbles were filled with little round bits of laughter. Next thing, we were both coughing above the surface, wondering if we were going to make it back to shore, laughing like a couple of choking seals. We made it, and sat on the sand recovering, saying things like: ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ and ‘Well, you don’t see that every day.’ Back at the party half the people ran out to go see the cute little creature. Not us, we needed a beer.

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Some ways north of the beach house is a Florida State Park. I went there one day, on my bike. The travel is a bit on the flat side, though oddly the ground rises as you approach the beach. When I spied the beach below, I figure I was about 20 feet up. Because of the shape of the place, the area has mild waves, enough to attract surfers. There were 10 or so surfboards out, 20 people on the beach. While I rolled down, I saw that something unusual was going on; the sunbathers were standing up from their towels, heading to the water. I tuned into a small Coast Guard boat some distance off shore which had everyone’s attention. It was slowly heading toward the beach, a loud speaker delivering a message. By the time I got down there, everyone was talking, talking. I asked what was going on, and then I heard the boats warning, something like: “We are tracking a shark…please exit the water…” Which is to say that the surfers were in some potential danger, and should take a break.

Needless to say, they all came in and took up positions by the rest of us hoping to catch a glimpse of a Coast Guard Trackable shark. That is, except one guy, apparently determined to catch that last wave. He was there for a moment alone in the sea, shark and boat notwithstanding, refusing to budge without at least one honorable wave to try. I say ‘alone’ because there he was, all eyes on him, nothing but water around him for a few seconds. Then, I would say he stopped feeling ‘alone’ and began to feel ‘lonely’ as a sizable fin broke water, heading for him at a leisurely pace.

“It’s probably a bull;” from the crowd.

He shrunk up on his board, realizing his peril, the fin went under again. The vessel then broke course and sped toward the unfortunate soul, hoping to help the situation. The surfer inched toward shore, a little per wave, seeing the fin again, this time briefly and not interested, heading upcoast. He made it to shore and was the cause of a short celebration; that was it, no more surfers, shark, or boat. I don’t know, I’m just a guy on a bike; but I’m willing to bet surfing was one thing to him before this adventure, and a different thing after.

O Shark

O shark, though you
Bite my leg
Eat my hand and
Bump my head,
I suffer you not.

O bear, though you
Crush my bones and
Seek to devour my entrails,
I worry you not.

Though water drowns
Wind destroys
Earth makes waste

Time enfolds
Making old
Grinding down
To ground and dust

O woman
O woman