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Show Blue Run/3 tip high, throw your head back and scream come home to daddy like my writer-friend Ray Ray out on the outer banks drunk under the Orionid meteor shower. Use the wave, break the run, goddamnit, bring him home. Up onto the sand. Grab his pale blue shoulders and lean into his face. Let the hemostats sway from your neck down to his mouth. Get a grip on the hook's snell, twist it from his mouth. Cut his throat. Lay him bleed with his kith and kin, under bloody ice and beer and heads-on shrimp. Smear blood on your ball cap so you'll remember this day, even when it morphs into the day your mama died, or got killed, whichever. Rebait, cast a hunk skyward-let fly Be, Maybe its after five when the blitz slows. The length of my white rod, the eleven-footer glistens with scales and blood and my arms are spattered to the elbows. I've promised Cap I'll cook tonight, make fish tacos and frijoles negras, salsa and corn tortillas. My word's good. I'm forty goddamn years old: why not piss in the ocean, swim out and get my hair wet, wash the blood and guts off my body? A shadows slides through the trough when I enter. The Atlantic is cold water, best to dive through the incoming wave, split the lip, that's what I do, with the blues and screaming birds thinning now, the run played out. Over the second bar, in the wake of the blue run, I give to the current and don't know that my mother is drowning in Arkansas. We breathe goodbye, her mind flashing the way the sun does when it goes down on open sea The feast is set, food for the table, good meat from the open water between worlds. What is there to know about anything? This strand is world famous for its riptide. The undertow here drowns the best swimmers, hauling them along the ocean floor, turning them under the waves. I've felt the pull, and it's a bastard today, the gravity of open ocean Peligro. the signs say, Danger. Beware. Watch your |