Thursday, May 16, 2013

playing the pockets


My hands grow tired waiting
while I decide which foot is best put forward
when my frantic tongue casts torn nets for schooling words
whereas the rest of me gamely listens
to glad-handing anglers with extravagant luck
who need to press their catch on me
down to the very last scale
sending my fingers finning
for the solitude of Walden Pond
blind with longing
for the lopsided grin of my pocket knife
curling to nap around
the soothing jangle of my keys.

No comments:

Post a Comment