We left the sheaf-rustling palms behind
from the large Key across the flats;
the water calm, clear, and shallow.
About a mile out we worked
rivulets running with the Atlantic tide.
The first hit came; a barracuda.
slackened the drag; the guide
reeling in the other lines so I could
fight around deck.
I kept thinking about dinner
at Sloppy Joe's like Hemingway
after a run to the Tortugas.
The cuda wore after ten minutes,
A brown shadow moved slowly across the flat.
Just as I thought threw the hook,
I felt the hit. The line slackened in glistening loops
following the severed head through the air.