Twitch on the Line

Out across salt marsh
the cannibal sun gnaws its skin. Rose and clammy surf.
Nothing else bites–the pro shop expert said:
You are drifting out too late. Mexican chum fishers
wade clutching spin reels, floating beers
and latin smack-talk in the calm beyond breakers.

My salesman had a Harvard air of all-knowing.
Behind him shelves on shelves of well-spun fakes the striped bass
are flirting with then shadowing away.
Adjust the taughtness, keep your line out. Suddenly
I miss the long sounding up your legs, casting
upstream toward warm bracken.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , by A. Miller. Bookmark the permalink.

About A. Miller

ALEX MILLER JR. is a staff writer for The Curator and the co-author of A Bow From My Shadow, a collection of poems written in dialogue with Luke Irwin. His essays and poems have appeared in The Conversation, Transpositions, Pif, The Curator, The Denver Syntax, Lake Effect, and ken*again. He is an adjunct professor of Western literature at Gordon College in Wenham, Mass., and high school English and Rhetoric teacher. He lives in Beverly, Mass. You can follow him on Twitter: @miller_jr.

3 thoughts on “Twitch on the Line

    • John,
      It was an inadvertent one, which Luke pointed out to me: Some imagery I lifted from Milosz’s “Annalena” without realizing it. Milosz, of course, handles the images more delicately and profoundly. Thanks for the good question.

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