Little man, little vinegar man travels
down the wrinkled river. In sight,
the osprey in a glint between trees.
The fortunate line the banks
and the less fortunate cling to boulders.
Little sour man has nothing left
in his canvas bag. No benedictions, no wise
or pithy sentences. Morning haze mocks
escape but as the day lengthens,
brittle blue fingers ease the hours
and a slow confusion shows its bones,
for how would he know when the river
finally bleeds into sea, with no one to remark it.
Mercedes Lawry has published poetry in such journals as Poetry, Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Poetry East, The Saint Ann’s Review, and others. Thrice-nominated for a Pushcart Prize, she’s published two chapbooks, most recently “Happy Darkness”. She’s also published short fiction, essays and stories and poems for children. She lives in Seattle.