no poetry on the Bay

no poetry lives on the bay today
there are only images to report
before they disappear
across the sky

like the plastic bag

last seen
it was one hundred feet high and sailing
towards Edithvale
lifted on the folly of a fickle wind
that trailed lightly across green water
rippling in easy rhythms
of movement

above a hundred small whiting
still in school

clouds stray across the blue
thinning to subtle suggestion
beneath a sun
that retains warmth to spite autumn
even as the water pays respect to the time of year
in currents of coldness
bearable but threatening
chill in only a week
or two

bag and breeze
overfly squealing gulls
that wheel and turn then hover
in seeming leisure
before descent
to the feast of a dozen
scattered loaves
that a discerning eye can tell
are no more than a day old
and assuredly free
to any takers

no poetry on the bay
but images disappearing

© Frank Prem, 2001

Daily Prompt: Feast

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