Postlude
Pompano had been running for two days.
The water had cleared after a week of rain
and runoff from the bay. Now lunch
and dinner were fighting for our baits.
Our ever-present companion, a Great Blue Heron
we called Barnie for more years than a heron can live,
is hanging around. Waiting for a ghost shrimp to drop
or a fish to snatch should we turn our backs
or not have lids on our catch or bait. We knew his game.
He was not afraid of us. We were his meal ticket.
Those who walked the beach looking for signs
of turtles nesting, who came too close,
and thought him tame, learned how fast Barnie
could launch into the air. Not that he ever went far.
He’s too lazy for that. This morning before the sun
had reheated its second cup of coffee, another heron
landed midway up the beach from us. Barnie
immediately went into a crouch and began strutting,
leaning low like Groucho Marx pacing.
He headed towards the intruder who walked
upright away from the water. This tableau continued
until both disappeared behind the dunes. I followed,
wondering whether they were a couple.
I’d once seen a pair jumped a fence to drink
from a swimming pool. But when I crested the dune
only one could be seen scrambling into the air.
Which one I couldn’t say. When I returned
to the shore, Barnie was repositioned near another
cursed fisherman who was working a fish
towards land. I already knew the rest of the story.
© Richard Weaver
Post-Covid, Richard Weaver has returned as the writer-in-residence at the James Joyce Pub. Among his other pubs: conjunctions, Louisville Review, Southern Quarterly, Birmingham Arts Journal, Coachella Review, FRIGG, Hollins Critic, Xavier Review, Atlanta Review, Dead Mule, Vanderbilt Poetry Review, & New Orleans Review. He’s the author of The Stars Undone (Duende Press, 1992), and wrote the libretto for a symphony, Of Sea and Stars (2005) which has been performed 3 times in Alabama, and once at Juilliard in NYC. He was one of the founders of the Black Warrior Review and its Poetry Editor for the first three years. Five poems from his Franz Marc MS will be appearing in the Alabama Anthology (2023). His 200th prose poem was recently accepted.
The Loch Raven Review 