Your great old, whiskery bull head
rose and dipped in the harbour waters;
how massive was the rest of you
had to be imagined.
A small crowd gathered to see
an unusual sight, grand-daddy seal
herding a dazzling shoal of silver fish,
nudging them, with little waves his nose made,
up against the harbour wall and the quay
running into the sea,
where they were clearly being panicked
into an L-shaped pen.
He, snorting, puffing, lumbering patiently
through the wavy water in the evening light,
they flying with gleaming, aquabatic grace
into a dark corner.
We did not stop to watch
him take his meal.
We too had a harbour-side meal to take
at Pete’s, where fish was
fresh on the menu.