Matt Caliri Poet Free verse

The Bait Shop

The bait shop was  
Green and worn with age.
The ancient wheelbarrow 
Nestled beside it outside
Like a last, clinging friend.
The water below the pier 
Was an odd sky brown,
And everyday was paper white.

The fresh and light wooden windows
Of the shop were ripped off
Either from a move or
God knows what…

No one ever used the one-dimensional bait shop
Other than to gaze at it.  It is a relic of my grandfathers,
Made by Him,
And found by me like a madman 
Wheedling away treasure from the chest

So I can sit here, and gaze at the
One-by-one foot bait shop,
Which hangs like everything else: Unfinished.

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Gene Williamson April 4, 2009 at 6:44 PM Matt, so many live one-dimensional lives, unfinished like the baitshop, flat, like a stage on which they appear behind the floodlights, blinded to the world beyond. I love your poem. -gene.

Nathaniel Köhp April 3, 2009 at 4:43 PM Like John said, the description here is captivating. The scene reminds me a lot of Brighton, weirdly. A very sweet reminder. I love the last word here "unfinished" a very clever ending. Maybe the Bait Shop isn't the only thing. Maybe we just never learn the rest of what happens. Well done indeed!

John Weber April 1, 2009 at 8:26 AM I enjoy your descriptive style here, Matt! Excellent verb choices throughout as well. Most importantly, I feel a connection here to your ancestors, and your longing to understand more about a bygone era in your collective past. Well written! Warm regards, John.