How much a pound? (kilo)

As I sit, above the sea, upon a rocky promontory, Watching as the summer air, tops the waves with old man’s hair, And listen to the ocean’s ancient sighs, as questing for the land it tries. A ghostly voice, close by my ear, makes me start and turn with fear! “Would you like a fisssh for teaaa?”  A deadly wraith now question’s me. I try to run; I crave to flee. The spirit will not set me free! “Each to each - in each one’s season. Hear my tale and save your reason?” My hands still shake; I quake with fear. I have no choice though but to hear. I nod my head in acquiescence and more benign becomes the presence. “Once… I was a man like you, a wife I had and children too, I sailed my boat across the sea, to bring home fishes for their tea, One summer’s day  - not unlike this, with brothers two I went to fish. And just out there, where sea meets sky, we set our nets our luck to try. Our nets outboard we’d barely spilled, when to our wonder they were filled, A host of fish, a massive shoal, sparkling silver but meaning gold! We worked and worked like men possessed, as we strove to collect the rest, At last our labours we were forced to break - not one more shrimp would our boat take. And so we turned towards the shore and then the black storm clouds we saw. Speeding fast as horse flat tack, as if to take our harvest back, I’d sailed my boat for many a year, a little squall I did not fear, The wind it rose, my brothers quail, but I would not reduce the sail. “Dump the catch!” One brother cries, the fear shines out from both their eyes, “God gave us this, our just reward, not one fish here, goes overboard!” The boat is tossed, it yawed, it pitched. I stood defiant; we were rich! And then through brine stung eyes I see - a wave that looks like half the sea. I had no time to even moan, the boat was buried in the foam. I tried to swim, I thrashed about, but all too soon my strength gave out, And slowly down in silence sink, one last brief moment left to think, My children never more to hold, my wife a widow now she’s told. My life, and all I want to be… a rotting corpse below the sea. And now, oh man upon the shore, before you go - just one thing more… Answer my question truthfully – do you still want fish for your tea?” Written January 14th, 2002 © on Jan 14 2002 11:49 AM PST    0 • 9