Valencia again
(it bears much
revisitation) and here

is an amphibian
grown out of
his gills he is

the fisherman’s
apprentice; his
torso is white but

his forearms
are tan
skillful digits pull

the lines, yes his
unwebbed fingers mend
the baskets and bring

load and load of day’s
catch to the monger
and fetch

their well-earned
pay. A young man
worth his salt

won’t lollygag on the
job he says Sir,
no games for now,

no poetry
how do I fish?