08 February 2006
Subject: The Fishermen
Date: Feb 8 2006 2:56PM
The boy sits up, wrinkling his face
in that frown of self awareness,
waiting to come full awake,
licks his lips and looks out
at the sun slanting in at near horizontal.
'Hey,' I say
and he smiles at the rearview mirror,
'Hey,' he answers in a whisper.
We pass two bait shops on the right,
fishermen in baseball caps leaning
against their pick-up trucks drinking
coffee from styrofoam cups.
'Live Bait, licenses and tackle,
finger mullets, live shrimp,
coffee, donuts and soft drinks,
ICE!' the signs say...
a ragged, bone-colored hound
pisses on a tire
and beyond the clapboard buildings,
in the back bay,
a couple of rust-stained runabouts
rise and fall on a gentle swell,
riding their anchor chains.