I’m fishing
in a fathomless pond
reeling in six today
no seven
piscine quicksilver so easily
forgotten
dragged from depths below
I remember.
The water tranquil
mere ripples across the deep
dark green
a verdant vast pool
of whispers and secrets.
I pull them gasping
for life
breathe into them
they don’t die
dancing in the pail
spider web tails.
I write their weight
and tip it
escape
to be caught again.
At the fish & chip shop
I watch the greasy cook
smoking in the kitchen
something sizzles
the pimply limp girl says,
that’ll be fourteen ninety-five
and I believe her.
From Poems from the Chatterbox