Chosen by Tess as a writing prompt for Magpie Tales: Mag 235
And The Gulls Cry
If there was a sun
it would beat my back and stink
the fish more quickly
as I ride the tide
and shift my full boatload catch
to wicker baskets.
This is my goddam
life I am talking about.
I hear there's gold in
Alaska, other
ways to thrive other places,
but here it's all these
fish.
I would go, son,
but then there's you. I would go
and leave her damn flat
but for love of you.
August 31, 2014 11:18 AM
What a unique approach! Well done.
ReplyDeleteIntriguing, skillfully done...
ReplyDeletePowerful, and strong depth within every line today! Bravo, I feel the strength ring true!
ReplyDeleteI don't think my fisherman is having fun. I don't think N.C. Wyeth's fisherman knee deep in dead fish is having fun either.
ReplyDeleteYou caught the moment...this bond father-son feels very strong in your poem.
ReplyDeleteThank you all. I'm amazed, actually. I have no children. I am nearing 69. I suppose I could still be a father. That would be insane.
ReplyDeleteskillful and so very intimate
ReplyDeleteThere is no shame in an honest day's work, but I imagine the stench would get to you on some days and make you wish you could be somewhere else. But for the love of family.
ReplyDeleteShame and stench are not the only reasons to hate the work. Boredom and wounded bodies count for much, as do the simple yearning for another kind of life, or how about having been locked into a loveless marriage by any one of several traps? You can love your son but hate the forced pathway to him.
Delete"as DOES the simple..."
DeleteChildren are sometimes the only reason...
ReplyDeleteThanks to you all.
ReplyDeleteStrong emotions here - well done.
ReplyDelete