Shit ending, really: dead
on a bleak swathe of Norwegian coastline,
lath of wood lodged in the gullet.
Glum comedown from the heady swell
of media fascination,
beluga as rock star, all PR clamour
and Hammerfest selfies. Or
should that be beluga as international
mammal of mystery, origins
murky as the crushing waters
closing over its ghost-white shape.
Black ops beluga, attacher
of limpet mines, subaquatic saboteur,
transmitter and receiver
of sonar; interpreter of same.
Deep sea, deep cover. Orca Tailor
Soldier Spy. The Ipcress Whale.
The Spy Who Came in from the Cod.
A harness of Russian manufacture
so obvious as to scream double bluff
or so clever as to scream triple.
The murmur of a drone returning to base.
.
Neil Fulwood
.