THE MUDFLATS

mysterious fishing

THE MUDFLATS

I settle on an old wooden bench

nearby a floating dock

the tide elevates as salt water

surges in from the sea to replenish the muddy marsh

the lowland grasses waver as the breeze kisses them

 

Three fishermen ardent for a catch

linger on end in hopes of good fortune

colorful floaters bob in the ripples

patience is the victor

yet no bites at day’s demise

 

As the sun hugs the rim of the bay

and mudflats dry to muck

fishermen nab their lines

and succumb to a rose-pink sky

 

Inclined toward drink

they regard their daily venture as regrettable

in due time they imbibe in moonshine

to mitigate their ill fortune

they lay on the dock with plenty of hilarity

while the Egrets, Blue Herons, Anhingas, Nightcaps skew then retort in cravings for more pickings

 

As the sky belabors, more lethargy from their hooch

they rest intoxicated with a snore while the quarter moon

with its own shadow and the northern star behold

only two placid torsos

 

 

 

Author's Note

Read carefully!!! Thanks for your comments!

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, that third fisherman...Maybe it was Peter...
three times denying...he disappears.
As they drink and tell each other tall tales of the large catch they did not catch.
denial, exaggeration and the tales grow taller with each guzzle.
j.

[Betty Hermelee]

Thanks J. for a great review....Still a mystery!
Best, B

[willweb]

So, what happened to the third fisherman? Did the birds eat him? Did he fall off of the dock? Was the quarter moon drunk too? This was dark and eerie my friend but you mastered the scene wonderfully. I guess if the fish aren't biting, something else might be.

[Betty Hermelee]

Still a mystery Will;
Thanks so much for a fine review.
Best, B