Novembers Beach…

The stripers are running,

The seagulls are feasting,

The fishermen are casting their rods,

Into the deep blue sea from the shore and in boats…

The air is warm, almost to sixty today, balmy,

The sun is out with wispy clouds,

A picture perfect day to sit on the beach and eat my salami & pastrami,

Watching the seagulls circle overhead,

What a day it would be to witness a tsunami…

The fisherman land their fish,

Three foot long and then some,

They throw them on the beach and allow them to suffocate,

Or put them into coolers filled with ice so that they may freeze,

Either way, what a way to die, wonder, do I, if situations were reversed,

If they would enjoy dying of lack of oxygen or freezing to death,

Unusual herein lines of a verse, but it isn’t to me, the worst…

This started as a wonderful poem of my favorite beach,

Intended only to take you there and put you out of reach,

But as I did watch the poor fish being pulled from the sea,

My heart did break at the thought of humans be treated that way,

The fisherman did have to get a license; therein they had to pay a fee,

Was it worth it to the fish that did nothing to incur this wrath?

Has anyone in the past ever thought of the fish?

Sit on the beach and watch them die, no oxygen, no warmth,

Then tell me you never did, nor would, nor could, but you should…

                © ed ~ 11/11/04