amidst all this

November begins today,
as I sit at our picnic table
at Ned's Point,
eating the three Lindt truffles
that you gave me for Halloween,
looking out at the harbor --
a Jerry Schurr rendering
of sun, clouds, sea and
the islands, set out in a long row --
a gull spots my candy,
and lets out a loud cry:
"No," I say, "not for you.
They are mine, a gift
from Her. Go find a mackerel."
and off he goes,
but not happily;
the wind swells
for a moment,
as I decide that
there might be a poem
amidst all this.

November 1, 2009, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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