I'd hate to miss it

 

We have a system, you and I.  I dabble in gibberish, and you check back on occasion to see if there is anything worthy.  For me, it’s a little like fishing, I toss out a line and wait for a nibble.  Sometimes I use a juicy story as bait, while on my off days, I drop a wiggler just to see what I catch.

A wiggler is a lame, poorly written poem, usually nonsensical.  Some of them catch the sunlight. It’s surprising what they attract. 

Keep in mind, I’m not actually sitting in a boat or fishing from a pier.  I’m just plunked down here in this little room, surrounded by odd bits, hoping they’ll spark an idea.  There are fragments of yesterday here and there, as well as hints of technological advancements looming about.  None of those have ever generated anything bait worthy.

On one shelf is a first baseman’s mitt.  I’ve owned it since my hand was way too small for it.  I have obviously grown into it, but sadly no longer play the game.  I keep it for no other reason than there is always a possibility I might walk out the front door someday, just in time to see a fly ball heading my way.

 

     Hey, it could happen.