I held it wriggly, slip-sloppily in my arms.
‘I made it for you, ‘ I said.
Gregory looked alarmed.
‘I made it in the Wet lab, ‘ I said.
I held it out to him, baby-breathed
nubby-spined, warm and webbed.
‘For your aquarium, ‘ I said.
‘Is it a fish or a lizard? ‘ he asked.
‘Sort of, ‘ I agreed.
My arms were becoming tired.
‘You must keep it moist, ‘ I explained,
edging towards the aquarium where
pretty fish fluttered organdie fins.
‘May I? ‘ I asked.
Gregory seemed incapable of speech.
My soft-scaled charge sort of slipped,
flipped, was hefted into the tank.
A mini-whirlpool ensued.
Imagine an artist briskly whisking a brush
laden with colour in water.
Blitzed fishy soup slopped over the brim
and slaked the worn oak stand which Gregory
had made from recycled boat timber.
It came to rest, pointy jaws ajar. Threads
of this or that garnished its milk teeth.
‘You’ll need more fish, ‘ I said.
‘Can’t it live by the river? ‘ asked Gregory.
‘No, it’s one of a kind, ‘ I explained.
Gregory looked glum.
‘They never guessed at work, ‘ I said.
‘Really? ‘ he replied dully.
‘I deliberately gunked the sump. They all
kept well clear, ‘ I explained, a little smugly.
‘Oh, ‘ he said, unimpressed.
‘Will it grow much? ‘ Gregory asked.
‘Some, ‘ I admitted, thinking of the museum
exhibit and the splinter of bone I’d stolen.
‘Then, can it live by the river? ‘ he asked.
‘Not the Swan River, ‘ I said. ‘It might eat
the dolphins and black swans.’
We watched it exploring the four
glass walls with an inquisitive snout.
‘I don’t want it, ‘ he said flatly.
‘But it needs you, you can house train it,
it’s so intelligent, it can play in the garden
and it’s gorgeous! ‘ I was gabbling.
‘Why has it got a bumpy backbone? ‘ he asked.
‘Because it’s growing a sail, ‘ I replied.
‘A sail huh? ‘ he said noncommittally.
The little creature
hooked a claw daintily over the rim.
Its chest quivered rapidly against the glass.
Black pupils mirrored an Eon.
It’s skin was the colour of a Cretaceous Spring.
It mewled softly, a multi-layered sound
like an orchestra warming up
a long way away.
Gregory sighed. ‘What would I feed it
when it’s bigger then? ‘ he asked resignedly.
‘Sharks, ‘ I said, pleased because
he was thinking practically at last.
‘Any kind? ‘ he asked sarcastically.
‘Great Whites, ‘ I said.
‘They’re protected in Australia’ he said.
‘I know, but they’re pesky, ‘ I said, ‘always
biting the hand that feeds them.’
Gregory frowned. ‘But if they’re protected…’
‘We mustn’t kill Great Whites, ‘ I agreed.
‘Anyway, it would prefer to eat them alive.’
‘Is that ethical? ‘ he asked dubiously.
‘Absolutely, ‘ I assured him. ‘No-one get’s upset
when killer whales eat sharks do they? ‘
Gregory shook his head.
‘Taking sharks alive isn’t easy, ‘ he said.
He stroked his jaw thoughtfully.
‘You could go diving together, ‘ I said.
‘Later, when we run out of fossil fuels
you could hitch a houseboat to it
and sail the flooded world.’
‘Does it have a name? ‘ Gregory asked.
‘Not yet, ‘ I said. I held my breath. I could
sense his reluctance melting.
‘What is it? ‘ he asked.
‘Not sure, ‘ I said, ‘female I think.’
‘No, I mean species; WHAT is it? ‘
‘A Spinosaurus, ‘ I replied.
‘I made it for you.’
SPINOSAURUS*
She
Paddl ed
In dappled
Nebulous blue.
Once, preceding whales
She paddled under sail
And shared with fishies
Unaware, swish
Rendezvous
Under
Sail.
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