Farmer on a shallow draft vessel,
Motoring out through the green fields of salt-water
You are not a fisherman, per se,
Searching the dark waters for fishes,
Instead, you catch them up
With your ironical farming implement: a rake
Dragged across the bottom of the bay
Pulling up the fruits of your labors
Dropping the shells on the bottom
Of your wooden boat
Motoring the fruits back to shore
Providing for those of us gathered here,
Sitting at table by the seashore
Praying a blessing over your labors.
About Me
- TBAYNHAMIII
- I was born in Kentucky, though my parents had been living in Knoxville before my birth. My mother's mother lived across the street from the hospital in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, which was convenient. I moved around quite a bit when I was young, but ended up in Georgia. I like to read and write and love food and drink way too much. I have a funny wife and daughter who has finished her batchelor's degree and is living with her grandmother in North Atlanta and studying advertising. I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if I had not gone to law school. Regrets come and go with the seasons.
No comments:
Post a Comment