Into The Sea

The old fisherman at day’s end,
his deck scrubbed, catch on ice,
profit spent on fuel and bait and rent,
sat at the bar, his big hand bent
on a glass of Irish whiskey,
and with his arms, spotted and scarred
from a sailor’s life in the shipwreck sun
and knuckles cursed by salt,
the cruel rigging of his craft
and the dark harness of an empty sea,
he lifted drink to peeling lips
and whispered, “Jesus Christ—”
It was his last long cast into the sea.

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