Fishing

SCATTERED

Ash on wooden tables

streaks of mud and seaweed

scattered on front porches,

unlit cigarette waits by a mug,

wrappers whirl on the ground

front gate swings open then shut

winter winds saying nothing,

Somewhere footprints fade

on a beach with waves lapping over stones

smoothed out with countless years,

washed free of memories

that only lonely fishermen hold in their nets

sounding out the depths of love, of loneliness,

ovens heat simple homes

overlooking an ocean without name

broom and dustpan lie broken, unused,

the tea is boiling,

jackets hang from a hook,

shouts of hello float among the seagulls,

two by two the fishermen walk by

going away

away

away.