One summer the creek dried up.

After cricket, me and a couple of the other boys,

In our whites,

Went down to the creek bed.
There was just a large puddle left, very muddy.

In it, a carp: huge.

It barely had enough room to turn around.

It was like a truck down a small side street.
One of the other boys scrambled out of the creek bed,

Up to the pitch, to grab the stumps.

He returned and we circled the carp trying to stab it.

It thrashed about- the only fish left in the puddle.
You had to really lean on the stump

To force it through the flesh;

Our whites got quite muddied:

Our mothers weren’t impressed.
Carp is a pest.