Two days ago, in Hong Kong,
I listened to Chinese fisher-folk
calling to their goddess Tin Hau
for a storm-free day
and a bountiful catch.
Earlier this Italian evening
after reading ‘il menu’
I called for maccheroni alla chitarra
and then, on a bed of potatoes
and black olives,
a fresh mountain river trout,
one of a very bountiful catch.
Replete now, I lie on my bed
listening to the distant wolves
calling to the Abruzzo moon
for a good night's hunting
and a bountiful catch.
A contest entry
- Diaspora by SamiJ.
450 points, ended July 23, 2007, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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