Moonfish
Tingalpa Creek
Under barbed wire fences of private
properties, taking shortcuts through secret
dirt bike tracks behind local Baptist Church
we starfished shirtless, skinny
as all fuck, pale as moonfish. He refused
to touch me. I loved him then, didn’t have
words for it yet, something beyond blood
brother or boy crush. We back
-flipped from sketchy rope swings
into murky depths. Bull sharks bum
-rushed beneath surface with endless
rows of disposable teeth. You might still
be able to hear their hungry murmurs
We only caught ripples, never gory
details. Those sharks seemed as frantic
as I was—pale bodies, no hair, all smooth
bellies with an appetite for something
just beyond reach.
About Sean West

Sean West is a Meanjin-based poet, arts producer and workshop facilitator. He has been shortlisted for the 2020 and 2019 Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize. His work appears or is forthcoming with Red Room Poetry, Antithesis Journal, and Voiceworks Magazine. He is founding editor of Blue Bottle Journal. Find more at www.callmemariah.com.