Fishing (Poem 3)

We sit on the dock
and wait
For something to pull the line
We’ve been at it all day
Growing anxious
We shift restlessly
in our seats
Waiting, always waiting
Hours drag on
and finally there’s a bite
Excitement fills us
We reel it in
But even this feels too slow
The line comes above water
We stare at each other
At the end of the line
is a broken bottle of hope

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