deepundergroundpoetry.com
A faint smell of fish
His hands creased red with knife guts
skin threads lashed on sail tied knots,
in-land he polishes park bench brass
and names her with a dark rum flask.
His eyes are dead, dragged in the net
free-diving, caught amongst the wreck
last on the line he starts to thrash
old seabirds left to bloodied sprats.
skin threads lashed on sail tied knots,
in-land he polishes park bench brass
and names her with a dark rum flask.
His eyes are dead, dragged in the net
free-diving, caught amongst the wreck
last on the line he starts to thrash
old seabirds left to bloodied sprats.
Published 14th Jan 2020
Author's Note
observing a retired fisherman missing his wife
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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14th Jan 2020 11:00am
14th Jan 2020 9:37pm
16th Jan 2020 3:32am
24th Jan 2020 10:34pm
Hey butters sorry I missed this, thank you for reading and commenting, much appreciated. You are very kind and I'm pleased the brevity works, I usually ramble on.
