Sitting, having recently lost my phone. i thought i would post a short and silly poem. it is as inoffensive as possible, so those who hate creative people can say, "how simple", and be unoffended. and those who believe poetry is the height of achievement can say, "how intimate", and be unoffended.\
or so i would hope
Sunday Fishing
I see them down here all the time:
Large Black men, catching small fish.
They take their tiny barbed hook and
Their tiny worms. Who knew they were so gentle
All the time they are fishing, working too, I suppose.
I cannot know what they actually do
I have only seen them nimbly replace a worm
or seem a giant to a flotation or depth exacting device
At the end, their buckets usually full,
these black men trundle home.
Do they have Children? Wives?
Do they paint the coast of Maine?
I cannot know, I only see them fishing.
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