missing

they are dragging
the lake,
the small lagoon, man
made,
for someone.
someone is missing.
we stand around with our
coffee,
smoking,
chattering in whispers
behind the yellow tape,
awaiting
a body,
cold and whitened
in shallow pool.
the men in their boats
stab
gently at the bottom,
pull heavy nets from side
to side,
over and over
again as the water turns
from morning black
to sunny blue.
they find nothing,
not a single hat, or glove,
or purse,
so we go our ways.
some of us have things
to do.