waiting
michael estabrook
that'll be me
someday
(unless of course I have a
damn coronary or
am run down by a bus)
an old
slow-moving man
white hair
bandy legs and all
way out there
in a waveless ocean
during early
morning low tide the cool
salty water caressing
my dry
wrinkled skin
as I'm waiting
for I don't
know what
for a mermaid perhaps
or even a
shark.