Aside

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,

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.

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