I do not understand why those men are fishing there.
There are no fish in windbreak ditches. I have fished them all before.
The stagnant shallow ditches where wind can only corrugate the surface,
Treble hooks with limp and sallow worms hang like lurid chandeliers
In dark and empty ballrooms.
Why are those old men fishing there?
Why do I think of you?
Like empty barns in windy landscapes,
I am blown clear through with gusts of you..