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Currajah (news & notes)

 

BEVERLEY GEORGE

                    Presence

He braces his legs

thighs right-angled to the thin grey jetty

that pegs a square of sea

then he back-flips

smacks the water hard

This bandicoot boy

his future mapped in wary eyes

belligerent jaw

repeats the ritual ten times over

standing in his own wet prints

claiming territory.

 

I am photographing pelicans,

their flat-bottomed flight

from mangroves to the fishery,

the awkward pause

between the descent of down-thrust legs

and the folding onto water.

 

‘Take my photo,’ he orders

backing his heels from plank to air,

taking his arms hard behind him

feet carving up the sky.

‘Got it?’

He shakes himself – no towel.

Salt water spikes his lashes.

 

‘One more for your wall?’ I ask.

Somehow he’s making me uneasy.

 

Distance shifts between our eyes.

‘Oh no,’ he says unblinking,

‘this is the first photo

anyone’s took of me.’