Poem: One of Those Fishing Stories

She sat on a dock, twiddling a hook between

her fingertips,

a silhouette on a backdrop of black,

sketched abstractly by the lustered pinpricks

of a fading daytime.


She grasped the fishing pole that sat on her lap,

let go of the hook and watched,


watched as it flew up,


knocking against the star tips and star bits,

bouncing and bumping,

then catching and snagging,

tugging against them, and dropping,

as the stars swam away.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s