Don't say "It wasn't clear; I didn't see,"
if, swimming out at dusk when sharks are near,
you find that you become a casualty.
Mostly, sharks bite us inadvertently
in murky seas or brackish bays, by mere
mistake: it wasn't clear; they didn't see.
Don't swim near shoals of fish that seem to be
churning the waves or leaping up in fear.
Odds are you'll never be a casualty.
With under eighty shark bites annually
worldwide, their threat to us is not severe.
Don't say "It wasn't clear; we didn't see."
Sharks are growing rare, down seventy
percent. If this persists, they'll disappear.
We are the menace; they, the casualty.
For shark fin soup, a pricey luxury,
seventy million sharks are killed each year.
Don't say "It wasn't clear; we didn't see"
or sharks themselves might be the casualty.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Susan McLean would be
pleased to hear them