Seagulls bob at rest on the ocean waves.
A tired fisherman the predawn chill braves,
disgorging his catch on quay.
Gutting knives of vendors clicking like claves,
staining blood red and sliming the cask staves.
A twist of the wrist the key.
Sponsor: Black Eyed Susan
Contest Name: Your favorite tail rhyme, past or present
[This is a truncated poem of an original 4 verse Tail Rhyme written by me some time ago, incorporating Rich Rhyme: "quay"/"key".]