The Fisherman
The fisherman waits
hand in pockets,
cigarette in tow
staring at the black.
People pass and smile
and he nods earnestly
checks the lines
looks to the skyline.
Then, dopamine darts
as he steps forward
climbs the rocks, the
rod bending yellow.
And he pulls back,
tosses a slippery eel
to the pavement
as a poem to a page.