Sawdust filled air, drilling
hooks into wood strong enough
to hold wheels of a bike.
Saturdays are made for fishing,
stringing fishing line through
a brand-new sturdy pole.
Grey wet skies leave
the fisherman’s dreams, waiting
for sweet-soft-sapphire calm,
clear. Pollen floating, at last
Spring is literally in the air.
Sinuses enflamed. Stringing
fishing line through a sturdy pole.