by Michael Keeling
A quiet swell encourages the waves
breaking on shallow rocks.
Sun lifts the morning mist
defining the mountain top.
Fishermen change bait
cursing the unseen catch
while boats splutter noisily
to their moorings.
Black, white, red, green,
multicoloured fishing fleet,
vessels of purpose.
Rods settled in holding sleeves
idling fisherfolk await
the tell-tale jerk of action
and the tightening line.
Persuasive sun sheds top-coats
from T-shirts mid-banter bragging
last night’s exaggerated conquest
and the eager anticipation of coming events.
Steering clear of a dozing seal
claiming its rightful territory
we head for lunch along the crowded jetty
and consume the catch of the day.