Time and Tide
Sitting, waiting, patiently,
it’s all I have left, except
for impatience and anger.
They sometimes take control
in an explosion of bitterness.
I can only sit here for so long and
then anguish gets the better of me.
A dropped plate, a spilt glass,
a cup of coffee slithering over
the tablecloth, and I explode.
Such events are becoming
more frequent and much fiercer.
I try to withstand them, to hold them
back, but they rise like the tide
that lifts the Fundy fishing boats
from their beds in the mud,
moon tides, planetary upheavals,
that swell again in spring and fall.
Like the boats in the bay,
I am powerless to stop them.
rogermoorepoet 