Gently, old man, gently

As you row towards dark uncertainty and the expectation

of many years past.

 

Gently, as the horizon blurs, conspires with the dark sea

to trammel your progress

Look not at the furrowed skyline, or the darkening skies

for the prize is your journey’s worth.

 

Now the Great White shows forth in a streak of silver,

disappearing in a froth even before you can make ready your line.

It will come, old man, it will come.

 

And again it comes, taunting, baring two endless rows of sparkling white teeth and-

Your line’s taut-

and you must secure your prize on the stern, head back to the shore.

Gently, old man, gently,

 

Now the shore is in sight and your joy froths over

Alas, your prize is gone and in its stead

the leftover skeleton of the Great White, whose flesh has fed

many predators along the way.

Gently, old man, take life as it comes.

Gently.