fisherman
Learn more about other poetry terms
I am by Christopher White
I am a fisherman with a rod
I hear the water beating the soft rocks that lie in streams
Cages thrown deep into the Hudson
The fishermen smoke stogies on the pier
I fear- that I might get sick
for the air is thick with the stench of smoke and chum
It stabs at my nostrils on my morning run
A squinting fisherman whispers,
come strangers, deep battles,
afternoon hostility,
emerging whales with white tails,
chase the horizon
