Poem | fisherman Bill

Bill’s non stop alcoholism

ment that he no longer

had the ability

to use inflection

in his speech.

His sentences oscillated

towards the end of every

incoherent babble session.

Fishing was his side hustle

at midnight from the pier.

He lived on

Fray Bentos pies

from a tin can;

had a daughter who

never spoke to him

and he would

strut up and down

when he caught

anything, but

you could see it

in his eyes; that

he knew deep down

no one cared.