Heading Out
Tackle box by the back door,
keys safety-pinned to your breast pocket.
I like how you examine the bait.
It seems to lift your spirits.
An hour, maybe two.The rain
is a slated blind drawn over the road.
Let the fog entertain the fish
and the moist earth.
What will I do today?
Mend the rose curtains
before their hems become slippers,
adjust the space heater
near the bubble backed chairs.
Go on, to the lake.
The fish are candlelight rising to the surface.
Get 'em, before they die in their sleep.
You'll return to a room with a bath.
To a brandy with no name.
© 2010 Borska
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