Seascape with Memory

I scrape shells and guts off the deck in the morning.
Every night’s fishing leaves its detritus.
Every day’s trip into town
Brings with it remains of a sort as well:

The leftover life of reaching out
To a hurt people, day after day…
Friends, lovers, strangers
Who wish to be left alone,
Wish to come closer,
To not touch – withdraw and move away –

From the table, their own loneliness,
My loneliness…something that touches us
Across the table, across the casual conversation…

With no climax, no dénouement, no point:
There’s no code in our speech,
No need to decipher want or need,
Just the morning light reflected from the innards
Of another day fishing.

Good one, Pete, I enjoyed the read.

Les

Thanks, Les. I do come from Boston, you know, 3 blocks from the beach.

Peter

Ahhh a good ole fishing analogy.

I do come from Grimsby, you know, "europe's food town" ha!

Nice one Pete.

Thanks, camus.

Good to hear from you. Hope to see some of your work soon. I missed you.

Peter