Waiting At Wanchese

Poem about infidelity on the Outer Banks

Waiting at Wanchese
for you to arrive,
I see old tires (as bumpers),
huge black donuts ground
between shrimp boats and docks.

First time I asked you out
your right flew up
like a released wench handle --
but you came around to a man
tired of eating alone; his doctor wife
too busy for a weekend at Ocracoke,
where at a clandestine beach you ran free,
your bare breasts glowing.

After that, alone in my office,
.. working late,
I would rotate this ring on my finger.
Was it all you imagined? Our webbing
of lies, hung to dry, like a fisherman's nets.

I drive around town, ogling girls
In shorts, May tourists.
Tonight after dinner at Fisherman's Wharf,
you'll haul me over, crying like the gulls
over another's discarded catch.

Reviews

[Elaina Monroe]

round of applause
two thumbs up
good holiday fun
and any other random positive cliches
most importantly clear vivid imagery sir