I watched them,
the anglers,
on the pier,
with their rods hanging
over the side,
with the lines going
down into the sea.
The sky was gentle blue
with clouds puffed out
like cotton wool.
One wound up his reel
with swift motion,
his features showing
expectation,
his rod bending
as he wound up.
Two others turned to watch
their rods unmoving,
the lines still.
I saw the fish
twisting and turning
on the end of his line,
he brought it over rail
and held the fish
disengaging the hook
from its mouth.
The other two turned away
gazing out at sea.
The angler looked at me,
then threw the fish
back in the sea.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
I watched them,
the anglers,
on the pier,
with their rods hanging
over the side,
with the lines going
down into the sea.
The sky was gentle blue
with clouds puffed out
like cotton wool.
One wound up his reel
with swift motion,
his features showing
expectation,
his rod bending
as he wound up.
Two others turned to watch
their rods unmoving,
the lines still.
I saw the fish
twisting and turning
on the end of his line,
he brought it over rail
and held the fish
disengaging the hook
from its mouth.
The other two turned away
gazing out at sea.
The angler looked at me,
then threw the fish
back in the sea.
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