21 January 2024

By Philip Kuepper

As I was watching a lone boat of rowers pass,
I let my imagination carry me away,
and saw their oars become utensils
they were using to feast.
From water to table,
the fish couldn’t be fresher,
the river, clear, to the bottom, clean.
Seagulls were not happy with the situation.
This was a matter of their feeding grounds
being accessed without their permission.
But the rowers ate quickly, sparingly,
leaving leftovers in abundance,
seafood fueling them,
until they rowed beyond sight.

(3 January 2024)