Around the headland I walked alone

towards the eye of the imminent storm;

with one hand in my pocket

and in the other an ear of corn.

A fish belly-flopped out of the water

and landed a foot away from me.

No sound from the mouth though silently pleading,

for someone to throw it back into the sea.

In Neptune’s treasure chest we have other settings

and people with noses for good crates of wine;

and others being “hip”, or “cool”, even “trendy”,

paying lip service to money and time.

Breno©

M07091998