The Chair
Walking alone on the foggy beach
I find a plastic chair
on its side at the high tide line,
left behind or washed in
last night. I tip it up
and sit a minute counting waves.
Tiny figures of beachcombers
to the north and south –
no one even approaching.
I could just leave
my wallet and keys in the chair
and disappear into the mist,
from this version of my life.
Farfetched? Last night
I met a broke young captain
who would take me anywhere
I’d pay to go, so he wouldn’t
have to store his boat
and get a real job.
Of course, I got up and went back
to the rented house, the wife,
the kids, all waking with fresh demands.
Or that’s what you think
I did, instead of submitting
this poem with a borrowed name
(thanks Warren) from far away
and then moving on.
Warren Woessner
Warren Woessner is the Senior Editor of Abraxas magazine and a part-time resident of Edgartown. His most recent poetry collection is Clear All the Rest of the Way (Backwaters Press).
