Sea, your room is lousy with fish.
You kicked me out and now I sit bored
And lonely. In your blue water interior
Mussels the color of black pudding
And assorted pots of mackerel and herring.
I will forget you, hearing abandoned shells
Sipping for air, goblets of crabs like drunkards.
The waves bowing down to their admirers—
Sand dunes and mobs of grasses;
My nostrils prickle with nostalgia.
I gave up the ghost last night at high tide,
You tried to drown me. Listen, I am no
Longer your tenant. And yet, you seek another
To litter their pockets with the tongues of fish.
You will always be tapping your nervous fingers
On the bureau lid of hooks and lines and sinkers.
Copyright © 06/29/2019 lance sheridan®