gone fishing

you wake up
and find sand in
your bed, it smells
of wet salts
and seaweed. there
are fish too.
flounder, rock fish
the size of cats
and small dogs.
hooks and sinkers,
litter the sheets.
there's a map
of the chesepeake
bay and a net
lying next to you.
scales like thin
shiny coins
are scattered
everywhere. a blue
shelled crab
is perched
on your headboard.
a seagull sits
at the bottom
of your bed with
black bean eyes
staring at you.
it's been a long
cold night
of dreams and
the fish were biting,
your hands are
raw and red from
the take.