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