I had trimmed them.

The trolling motor

ran silent as I entered

the channel.

Milky Way’s to my right

and Star magazines to the left.

I wonder how a seventy million

dollar divorce is worked out.

I mean, really–seventy?

The peanut butter cups

my ears and my mind

lets go of the rudder.

No longshoremen to help

with the catch of the day.

I sidle up to the dock,

place the stick of separation down,

and begin emptying the hold.

A gallon of milk,

snap peas, Gala apples,

shredded cheese, minced garlic,

Eggo’s, chicken breasts,

salsa verde, ice cream,

onion, wheat bread,

…

Where’s the fish?

No fish. The closest thing

is a box of Capt’n Crunch.

No real evidence I was out to sea.

“I don’t know if I’m floundering or

foundering.”

The clerk just rolled her eyes

and spun the bag carousel.