Septima

This is just a fanciful poem about how a large, potentially deadly shark was essentially hanging out at the beach for a few weeks.  No one would have noticed if she hadn't been tagged with a GPS pinger.

“Septima”

Death was swimming in the sound

Cruising in the bay

And playing in the surf.

You paid no notice.

She did not hide

She announced herself

Passively

several times.

You did not hear.

She slid past your cook out,

Skimmed past the surfers,

And surveyed a couple or two.

You did not panic.

Death was all around you

But you lived your life in bliss