The Lonely Fisherman
He sat on a rowing boat in the fjord he wore a yellow raincoat
and a southwestern cap matching his coat` colour. Fine rain it
was like watching a movie an intellectual one and French.
I couldn’t stand by the window all day, so I sat down reading
a book that was too long a mind-numbing love story.
I read several pages then gave up looked out of the window
the boat was there, and his cap was floating like a life raft for
a mouse I held my breath had he drowned, then the man got
up he had fallen in his boat perhaps slipped on a dead fish,
but other ways looked fine and with an oar caught his cap.
He began rowing to shore tied the boat to the small pier and
walking up the track to my cabin, he carried fish in a plastic
bag I dived behind the sofa when he knocked on my door
I don`t like fish but would end up buying a couple to be polite
and if he was of the talkative kind bore me with endless tales.
Back on the boat, he untied the rope turned and gave me the finger.