by Marshall Jamison

A cool sea breeze blew softly across the
field of fresh cut hay
inviting me to breathe deeply the Bay’s
salt spray.
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
they caught
or how long and hard their catches
fought,
but I remember, I’ll never forget!

For me, what nerve it took
to take the ugly sculpins off
the hook.

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