|Jan/Feb 2009 Poetry|
Diving in a Shark's Cage
"We'll get some great film," Gary promised.
"The water will be as clear as gin."
A month later we were on a boat,
the captain laying down a chum line
of blood and crushed sardines.
Gary was ecstatic, the first
to spot the dorsal fins.
The cage lowered. I was coaxed
into it. If I had been dropped off by a cab
in a dangerous neighborhood
would I have felt safer?
The Great White slammed into my cage,
a truck running a red light,
blindsiding me. Shaken, I watched
as my cage was winched up.
I flew home that night.
I needed to sleep in my bed.
To put distance between me and that shark.
Years later, when jolted awake
in the middle of the night
I would swear that my bed