OBrien4

M .  N .   O ' B r i  e n

SHORES OF JAPAN

Snag #10

Saxophones and fish bones float to the shore,

sleeping in their flesh. There's a bottle too,

with no message other than high fructose

corn syrup and a deposit. The fish

think it's a cruel joke. The crabs don't think

at all. It's not their style, there's no claw.

Old wood of the docks, the lapping algae,

a flash of silver in the sun, and skin

steal thoughts as the water ripples around

the line. Stretching my eyes of morning's luck,

I look for an excuse to leave night dark.

The saxophone bleeds sand when I lift it.