GONE FISHING

I was walking under the blue sky

When blues crept up on me

Like the suede on my shoes

I didn’t lose my baby

But I couldn’t find her either

She had ducked out for lunch

Or decided to go fishing

An awful long way down the line

Only voice mail on her cell

Unable to build a bridge over that void

I sat down by the river

And threw the smoothest stones

I could find

One skipped perfect

Three or four times

But it was the one that sank

With a thud

That scraped those blues

All over my face

Then I had to move quickly

Far away from the river

And what was left of the sky

copyright 2010

by Tim Young