Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Empty Buckets

This morning I jumped back in to the frenzy
of numbers.
I cast my line into the sea
and waited for the big one to bite.
There I sat
with my little fishing pole
hoping my prized tuna would see my sparkling decoy.
Hour after hour
I waited and watched
tossed about on the deck
till I was green as the water below.
Nothing came of it
except nausea
and the empty feeling that I was chasing
something that should never be caught.
I prefer to fish
just for the art of fishing,
to walk away with the heat of the sun on my back
and the sound of the deck creaking below me.
I prefer not to bring anything home except
the memory
of salt air.