Fishing
Today, at Hollywood Beach,
Not just any other Tuesday afternoon down by November's sea,
The gulls' impatience is all too obviously in the air
And on the shore — a vast cacophony of incessant screeching.
This oceanic expanse is at a spastic pitch,
With birds lifting, filling sky-spaces as they're vacated, landing,
Famished fowl at the ocean's storm-stoked trough,
Far too busy stuffing their gullets, guts, with minnows, mullets,
To notice the two of us, lounging in our beach chairs,
Chatting, laughing, reiterating how happy, lucky we are
To be soaring on the heated breezes of our juvenescent ecstasy,
Fishing for wishes, magical passing fancies, between catnaps.
11/24/10
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