High-tide triage


Poet, beach fire, ocean mist,

twilight tide brings starfish in --


nature's hint: salvage something,

at the very least, trim ripped edges


from phrases, slice off white chunks

of rhyme, suture ragged images


before gangrene begins --

do something to avoid amputation


of the not-so-perfect end.

Right here on damp sand, 


this poem needs major surgery

and I have only a hotdog stick


to operate with. I abhor

when green metaphors,


like pus,

seep out, then in.

                              Timothy Pilgrim