Coraki Lake

Coraki Lake is fed by Turon Creek

through the swamp near Manx’s house.

The lake used to be linked to the ocean,

but three years ago

a storm dumped a levee of sand

damming the outlet.

A few locals still go to sea,

but drive all the way

to the ramp at Balarang Bay

ten kilometres north.

They launch fibreglass boats

with outboards and ice-loaded eskies

as if certain of their prize.

At night they return with sunburn,

a hangover

and just enough fish

to encourage them again next week.

My neighbour, Mr Crewe,

and his mate, Mr Huth,

fish from the rocks

under the lighthouse

one eye on their lines,

the other on freak waves.

They glory in the taste of whiting

lightly crumbed and quick fried.

The rest of us circle the lake,

each with our own special place,

and the town joke is

who will give up first –

the hundreds of procreating fish

or the pensioners and teenagers

casting a line

and hoping.

The storm of three years ago

left us without an ocean view

from the flat ground.

It dammed the lake,

and damned the town.