Fog sometimes lingers longer than is welcome here.
An uninvited guest
it permeates this place upon the shore
distorting or denying vision, and hovering —
its dampness felt upon our faces
and on the chairs so often used
to watch this version of the world in summertime:
the bathers and the boats —
the walkers leaving footprints in the sand —
little children screaming their delight.
The fog inhibits much of that
and even foils some expectations.
‘Tis enough to make one sulk.
Or one might read a book
for one’s imagination can ignore surroundings
and banish the intrusion.

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply