Might as well be daybreak
the big nets stringed with knots
the ropes, a rats nest of fingers
glass balls that floated the catch
the fishermen asleep under boats
who always shouted ven aquí guapo
we have sardines for breakfast
a dim grey beach stretched for miles
sand sprints against wind and memory
with old Ákos my Hungarian coach
ex-Olympian, ex-police chief, ex-prisoner
steely teeth, stories and stop-watch
who taught me how to win races
how I had to get underneath the wind
for I was a falcon too, in those complexities.
© 2017 Rob Schackne
No comments:
Post a Comment