Not a Gorton’s Fisherman,
no he doesn’t have the hands,
the weathered brow, the
calluses,
the smell of fish, squared
shoulders,
or the sound of the rocky
Maine coast
Mustard yellow hooded,
bearded and bespectacled,
a neoprene monk, myself,
looked back from the wet car
window
mirrored in the rain in the
church lot
A bumblebee, a lady bug,
and a yellow princess
in tow, coursing across the
puddles,
‘round the courtyard,
burst through the door,
Ready for the moist
greetings
of pastors and friend
commotion in the narthex
before the race to the coat
rack
the clamor to the classroom
Sanctuary and refuge
on a rain soaked morning
in a wet-frozen May
glad to be inside
Edited May 4, 2013
“A Neoprene Monk – v2”
May 15, 2006 11:49am
“A Neoprene Monk”
All
of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004,
2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013. All rights reserved.
Contact me at Ray Foss
for usage. See all 23,210+ of my poems at http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com
Poetry Where You Live.
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