Fisherman

Reel me in, 

spike through my lip,

I am pushed into dependence,

drowning in your air.

I followed the gentle murmurs of praise

like a swimmer to the surface.

You have me, 

and triumph slaps your face

and mine,

knocking me against the bed...

the pleasure of a practiced fisherman.

The afternoon you came,

I wasted as I waited,

restless, dissatisfied.

Hours grind by to

make way for the quick minutes

when you roll up

in your deckchair car

and knock impatiently on my front door.

My blood echoes the sound.

Our roles: reversed. 

Reviews

[Bertie]

What a great poem ! I love the more aggressive feel to this than in the other poems you've put up recently (I've tried to review with all in mind at once as they feel like different sides of a coin and to disregard them when focusing on one I think would be silly!) the 'spike' the 'slaps' the wasting and dissatisfaction. It's the kind of poem that riles me up even though its not my emotion or situation which I think is one of the aims of everyone who writes and the final line is the perfect (slightly embittered it feels to me) twist...And I really enjoyed getting more of a character of the subject of the poem, the fisherman...very powerful and a great allegorical choice dear, well done ! x

[Robin]

you earned a wry smile for your sharply executed finale , the perfect brushstroke to underline this animated poetic of affection and the affected ~

[SkinlessFrank]

this one gets the heart pounding fast and the ancient hunter memories flowing over

[Samuel Dickens]

This is a new, unique take on the age-old subject. Very creative.

[Ed Hart]

take two aspirin, and call me in the morning