He was a weathered man
bronzed, but not burnt
hands calloused and torn
broken by time, yet with the softest touch
he played the strings of the sea.
He liked people
in ones and twos
(as long as they didn’t
stand too close, say too much, stay too long).
She was different
they came for her and stared at him,
she would softly smile at him and he would retreat
like a morning fog
to his shed.
They would stand and talk,
they bargained and bought.
She’d worry till the waft of sea salt and cigar told her
he was fine
and had found his spot.
She loves her fisherman
her simple man
because he is simply hers.
she, is simply his everything.
by Dr John A. King
“Ive been waiting for you,: she said, standing there with complete certainty and that infuriatingly knowing smile I would come to love.
“I’m sorry, but do I….” was all I ever said again.
She took my hand and said, “Come dance with me.”
Moments later, as the moon rose, I asked, “What took you so long?”
She cupped my face and said
“Baby, I had to wait till you wanted to smile again.”
Dr John A. King