across the bridge

no one pays much attention

to the dead little fish still

with a hook in its mouth

lying stiff on the concrete

next to the tangled cut lines

of the long gone fishermen

the wind from the river

picks up a discarded blue mask

and tumbles it across the bridge

adding it to the pile of others

blown in the same direction

discarded the same careless way

the boat show just began and

the smell of money, beer, cigars

and fuel mixes unevenly with the

salt water, salted pretzels and

salty attitudes of affluent hagglers

making million dollar deals

its a clear-sky day in the low 70’s

made for strolling couples walking

hand in hand - i noticed the dead

fish, the pile of masks and the

wealth of wealth - my hands and my

heart felt so detached, so empty