Just When You Think There is No One

A white-bearded old fisherman
appears at your kid’s soccer game
in a folding chair, reading poetry.

And how do you know he came there
to save us? Not just the blue cap he wears.
Not just the flannel shirt frayed at the cuffs.

You can tell because the simple words
cast with such care into their stanzas
are turning to seabirds as he reads.

You can tell because the thin book
he holds so tenderly in his leathered hands
is a long, thin line into the deep.

And you can tell when he sets the hook
to haul in a small piece of forever,
his old eyes flash brightly and leap

up into the endless sky for a few long
moments before floating back down
to the ocean of words in his lap.

Geoff Collins: I have been writing fiction and poetry for a few years and have begun to have a few pieces published in journals such as Blue Earth Review, Willow Review and Main Channel Voices. I live with my wife and two daughters in Marshall, WI, where I work in the local schools.