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Sunday, July 17, 2011

Angler

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I ran wild with lust
That was manifold and rank.

        Saint Augustine


Saltwater, Gulf
of Mexico, uninhabitable
islands the marsh bleeds
into outer bays shallow
lakes, brackish to fresh
coffee-colored canals yield
largemouth bass, sac-a-lait, speckled
trout, redfish
angry gar, ancient choupique—

I barely made it here—
a cool gym in North Milwaukee
streets mean sheets of ice
the generous snow

we hadn't spoken
for a month or so
when she pulled in
a pink salmon.

Oh ardor, two, three times a day
I work out, patrol like a cobia
all mirrors glisten
her backchat, long Wisconsin "o"s
a faint tan hints her short season...

the Lake Michigan coastline  
an unfurled boa—
the rare leaves on birches in winter
silent snowfall on distant waves suggest
the shore—nothing to catch, nothing returns.

Ungloved through a swell
my black frayed jacket and boots
lake marked by buoys, countless
aubades dressing, undressing our mornings.




Beau Boudreaux is the author of a chapbook Significant Other (New Dawn Unlimited, 2005) and has published his poetry in journals including Antioch Review and Cream City Review, and in anthologies including The Southern Poetry Anthology. He teaches English in Continuing Studies at Tulane University in New Orleans.  His first book-length collection Running Red, Running Redder will be published in the spring of 2012.
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