by Marshall Jamison
A cool sea breeze blew softly across the
field of fresh cut hay
inviting me to breathe deeply the Bay’s
The scent cut sharply into the sweetness
of the new-mown clover
reminding me these glad Maine days
would soon be over.
My two little boys, in white sailor hats,
khaki clad, tan and wide-eyed,
fished for flounders, pollock or
tomcod on the rising tide.
They can’t recall now just what
or how long and hard their catches
but I remember, I’ll never forget!
For me, what nerve it took
to take the ugly sculpins off