When he speaks he hears his voice
distorted, shrill – faraway
When he moves
he meets resistance; his progress is stifled
confused, he can’t feel –
no feet, no ground
like living underwater
this stark, still environment tints his vision
chill green
strident luminosity but
he’ll adjust. He’ll grow
clear hard scales, his blood
will run cold – transform to
survive. He’ll learn;
a dampened organism, tongues
insinuate, forever
in motion. He’ll see
through shell-pale eyes now
salt won’t sting
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Australian-born, with English mother, has lived in several Australian cities and in London. Travelled widely. Way way back when, published widely as a poet and short story writer. For the first 20 years of my working life I worked as an entertainment journalist, publicist, PR consultant and in advertising and media agencies. In the second 20 years, I worked in marketing roles at non-profit organisations then retrained as a teacher, primarily teaching English to non-English speaking, newly-arrived refugees. Also did miserable McJobs, and a long, happy stint at an art gallery.
