Below the Ord River surface is a Predator and the Prey,
both the Hunter and the hunted it shall be on this day.
Hot afternoon sun, beneath the shade of mangroves,
A Barramundi has lived to an age it no longer grows.
Feeding and resting and waiting to pounce on the weak,
Spawning no more, her Barra family a memory to keep.
Tired but hungry, one copybook hunt for this eve,
a new fish full of colour, was designed to deceive.
The Barra quite curious, hunger swallows her pride,
Stalking a meal, may be the last chance on high tide.
Stealth-like the Barramundi pounces on top of its prey,
But it bit more than it could chew, on this its last day.
Survived many a line, she bears scars and old hooks,
as Man steals from the river, like Ord river Crooks.
This time she is tried but still she fights long and hard,
Until a net lifts her above water like an old river discard.
Flashes of bright light, Man laughs at her peril,
“It’s a keeper” he calls, “and this catch is my treble!”
So as she lays on her side, trapped and sucking in air,
She dreams of young Barramundi she left everywhere.