The Solitary Fisherman

by

Virginia Johnson

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Sandy beach piled high with seaweed
I spy him from a distance,
A fisherman of undetermined age,
Son of explorers,
Born to the sea.

Far off waves boom offshore,
Sending spumes of spray into salty air.
Tossing fishing boats from crest to crest.
Bringing dreams
Of past voyages.

Burning sun warms the sand,
Scorching rough skin,
Protected by stubble of beard.
Producing lethargy,
Accentuated by boredom.

Wary eyes stare intently
From beneath a jaunty beret.
Agile fingers thread bait,
Counting escudos
To be made from the catch.

Seagulls shriek and soar above,
Tourists chatter,
Distracting the solitary fisherman
Who pauses
To peer intently at my camera.