Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #360
The Old Fisherman
by Belinda Roddie
The old fisherman's skin was baked and brown
after so many years along the coast,
casting his lines into the bay. And down
the street, he could hear music from the most
pompous of food establishments. He knew
he'd hardly get a bite, given the storm
that had plagued the city just only two
days ago. Now the air was thick and warm,
the humidity clinging to his hair,
as he sat on the rocks with rod in hand,
watching the water catching the sun's glare,
smelling the salt and dirt and dampened sand,
sensing no nibble on his lure. He thought,
"I might as well stay here until I rot."
by Belinda Roddie
The old fisherman's skin was baked and brown
after so many years along the coast,
casting his lines into the bay. And down
the street, he could hear music from the most
pompous of food establishments. He knew
he'd hardly get a bite, given the storm
that had plagued the city just only two
days ago. Now the air was thick and warm,
the humidity clinging to his hair,
as he sat on the rocks with rod in hand,
watching the water catching the sun's glare,
smelling the salt and dirt and dampened sand,
sensing no nibble on his lure. He thought,
"I might as well stay here until I rot."
Comments
Post a Comment