The Alligator Fish
Will and I hop the fence of the reservoir
and shuffle down the waterside on our arses.
The trees are smaller here but cover more of the sky.
I look down into the muddy brown water.
How far could it go?
Will pulls the back of his shirt round
to show grassy marks all down his back.
The sign only says deep. Drink a bit.
Grandad says don’t drink water that isn’t moving.
It’s not moving in the glass.
I kneel beside the water and dip my pinkie.
The cold creeps up the underside of my wrist.
An alligator fish jumps and bites my hand
with pin teeth. The fish looks at me
with a fixed but not blank look of,
I can’t move, and neither can you.
The weight of his tail tips my shoulder.
My face trickles down cold.
I can’t hear Will anymore.