Buddy

Buddy dressed

hurriedly, haphazardly

A fast comb

A quick check

 

Food..,

shoveled like coal

Juice.., orange, cold

Funneled into a

Waiting throat

 

The grapefruit colored sun

Spreads its waking fingers

Over the dark, slow-moving

Morn.

 

Wiping the crusty,  grimy

Still-dream from

blue eyes,  still finding their focus.

The near sleep slough

falling slowly away

 

Buddy headed out.

There a shed

lonely and dark,

like a sentinel

on the wall of night..,

his destination.

A silver clasp his only obstacle.

 

The dark poured out

The door was open

Inside…

the thin flexible pole.

Tethered to it

his plastic buoy,

and trident trap.

 

The scaly, swift-swimming

prey,

Waking.

The still silent,

sunlight, spattered stream

Calling…,

It,s trickling, tickling whisper

brushes his ears.

 

A field to cross

Tall purple, pink, waving

Wildflowers.

The song of the morning playing.

 

His pace quick, his eyes new..,

bright.

Soft dirt, almost muddy, from dew.

There beneath the skin of the earth,

A plethora of slimy, crawling

digging bait,

Soon to feel the trident’s bite.

 

Fishing is

his game today,

and he cannot wait

to play!

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About Derek Rizzo

Author and poet since I remember, I finally decided to live my dream. I'm writing a fantasy novel. Follow-me to share my progresses and glimpses of my story as it comes to life.

Posted on September 20, 2014, in Poem and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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