The Hunger Game

Here I am again –
talking to myself.
Boots muddied
and teeth chittering,
while a rowboat man
casts in the gloaming.
Swish after swish, he swishes
oblivious that below
lies an undercurrent
taking his fish tea
out of his grasp.

Tonight he will catch
a sausage supper.

poem © copyright Brian Shirra 2013

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