The Bullhead

factory, not discarded and forgot.
Sharp claws snap at my scales, move under
this hard flatness, this safe dark hiding spot
from sharpness cuts my world from another.

Here the claws eat my eggs, my unborn bairns.
We must find safer places and survive.
Despite our shredded skin we must learn
to continue ourselves and keep our lives

I hope she can hear me beneath this flat
hardness the rub of my fin against my
head. Here I have dug a hole in the fast
flow ready for her to lay our young fry.

Old ones say we have overcome death threats
before, so I will tell bairns never forget.