Solitary old white beard
sits joyfully in the flat bottom boat,
aluminum tub carried along
by a weak and fickle current,
undocked from his wild
gesticulating wife on shore,
blissfully ignorant of her rants, 
hearing aid switched off,
two empties tossed in the bow.

He casts a silver spoon
towards the patch of weeds,
trolls his line gently until
nine inches of perch
strikes the enticing bait.
There, but for the grace
go I, as he shows his catch
to the woman he thinks
waves and sings his praise.