249 or A Ledge

Cut off my fingers
my request
on a blank record
makes it bitter
for her

leave me Carolina and
the cosmos
where I kept
our promises

on a wooden porch
by the lake
a metal bucket
for your catch

and I’m a fish
a trout
a bass
in your backyard

but it’s not
the English countryside
but you say it’s
beautiful
but you say
look what I’ve
caught