I know it was him
wearing custom cowboy boots of steel grey scales
flecks of white like that old agateware kettle
that sat on the Glenwood in the cellar.
His shirt was undone two buttons down
the Italian weave glistened.
Oh yes, it was Sharkman walking upright
a two legged but the altitude tampered with his shape shifting
and he had to remove his boots as his fin feet expanded
with the race in backward time to arrive in Athens
to talk with other Shark people about finance, funding, and art.
Sharkman is cultured
with electric nodes zeroing in on the vulnerable
the exploitable, the unsuspecting and uses words – with a slight accent of course,
a swooshing, low tone almost impertinence
due to the double rowed teeth visible
only when a wild smile is spontaneous.
Sharkman is narcissistic, easily annoyed by natural daylight
or perceived lack of attention
sly in conversation, he twists his left wrist to allow
the stainless-steel mesh band Rolex to slip slightly – to distract –
an illusion like seeing part of the jet’s grey wing
and thinking it is the grey of the ocean or fisherman off shore
anchored by sunken U-Boats and ocean liners.
Yes, he’s a deal closer – a consumer of economic threats
that sends arms, as in weapons, throughout the brackish tide waters of moral impunity,
on occasion, Sharkman sends the actual arms
of deal breakers and double crossers
he barters commerce for commerce
money for hearts, kidneys, lungs
delicacies rasping with bubbled fumes of regrets
and stiffening reticence.
He has to drink vinegar water, Sharkman gurgles,
to manipulate the osmotic compass of discretion and deceit.
It’s only business, after all.
Akhelios – a man that was cursed into being a shark because of how much he boasted about being fairer than Aphrodite.