trout

for bob

Dan Salmon

bob kicks the old gardiner six into reverse
mud bubbles beneath the old girl's keel
manaia caulked carvel kauri
six decades fishblood soaked keeldeep
time was, in season you'd steam three maybe four hours into the firth
and fill up quick

bob, near as old as his ship
she's paid off, but
bob, up to his arse in bank, house, quota
debts, you got to plan ahead in this business

jeff the deckhand
drives a hotted mag-wheel mazda
looks like he does drugs
drinks like a fish

manaia, hammer down
jeff coils the springs
bob calls ‘looks like weather’

jeff sucks a durry,
hoicks to the tide
bob ‘get the billy going eh?’
jeff hiffs his smoke in the tide
lets the last precious drag curl
out over top lip

‘she's right, i'm for a piss’
(get it yourself he's saying)
cheeky bugger

bob casts a weary eye astern
blackweather stagnant on the waitaks
the tops lift off the swell
12–15 knots, you could flick the radio to the forecast
but fish one spot this long
you get your weather from the window

could be a good morning,
there are any fish