Tonight's Poet Corner: Fisherman

Fisherman
by Belinda Roddie

The dreaded eskimo landscape
is melting away fast,
a gaping bleeding maw
salivating frostbite
for the very last time.

You trudge the slush
and go fishing in new ponds
while your home city of San Francisco
turns to ice.

And though the snowfall is first
exciting, the golden gate is
not better silver. The bay
goes solid and leaves sailboats stuck
beneath the glazed bridge

while up north, you catch a dozen fish
and eat them in the sticky sun
raw.