The old bearded man you might know
He journeys to where the cold wind blows.
To the infamous dock with his fishing pole
Trying to catch what’s left to feel whole.
But you know his rod is empty of line
Never casting but sitting back to unwind.
All the past regrets of family summer fun
Working and working, saying “no” to his sons.
Now the man is ever busier than before
Paying homage daily to settle the score.
Hoping for restitution from this sacred place
That he so wished at one time to embrace.
Chad A. Damitz