A Moment
His troubles are but small: the ache of his back, the
crack of his knee,
the numbness of his hands in the coldness of water, and
the slippery shiver of his fingers
as he struggles to bait the hook securely, his keep-net
still empty
then the whispering, glistening slip of line from the rod’s
end
into the blackness of the lake
Impervious to the calling of geese behind him in the
reeds
and the lapping waves, slapping the sides of the dinghy
bobbing gently, a mile out from shore
he soon detects the steady throb of diesels
the pleasure-cruiser emerging from behind the headland
silhouetted by the setting sun
He squints and shades his eyes, straightens up to stare
reluctant
at this disturbance to his evening solitude
but still raises his unencumbered arm, in greeting or
salutation
a vague communication to me across the water, the one man
yet out on deck
then drops down roughly into the boat, bracing himself, to
keep things steady
before the bow-wave buffeting that will come
as we glide past and leave him to his fishing
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