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.