by Anthony Liccione
To all the many wishes
I cast to the sea, all the forgotten yarns
of history, unraveled
lay spread on the bottom seabed.
Sandglass footprints of who
he was sunk along the shore,
billions of stars etch the pebbles
that went footloose.
The fishermen yachts ten yards away
cast their hooks and catch nothing
but colds and lost dreams in brine webs.
My father fit in with his troubles
as he cast his fishwife to the abysmal chill-
his soul strung in the curls of water
and tangled in hairs of seaweed.
Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum in a brown
paper bag was a favorite, when down
and done he’d cast the bagged bottle to the
black blanket sea of an SOS seeking tutelage.
His messages floated to shipwreck.
Desperate years trodden along the pier,
he chose a beautiful scenic view to wash
away the chronic depression of his life-
I wished my father a lifeboat,
and clear water to subdue in.
I tossed my cents apologizing
for being a born burden to you
and my mother you couldn’t control,
when the coins twirled at random, aimlessly
spinning a silver glitter to the bottom
before getting lost to the murk,
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