Out on the bay in a boat fishing.

Ballgame on the radio.

Home team in the ninth

battling from behind.

Big one about to bite.

Watch keeping perfect time.

Check in the mail.

Wife at home,

roasting beef to a tee.

Gravy boat on the table brimful.  

Golf tomorrow ineluctable.

He smiles into the wake –

half-open eyes on the line half-focused,

hands folded over paunch, adequate

gold in mouth –

half-dreaming at his own wake

the jig never up.

Willie Smith

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