by John Grey
Nothing has changed.The sea's still dark.The air's as dampas a flooded basement.And he swearsthat it's time for himto smash somebody's jaw.A man is only a man. he says.Nothing has changed.The wind is fierce and salty.A faint smile hangs around his face.A fist jumps into his hand like a gun.But it's the muzzle of his cheeksthat smoking.He feels a hot dishonest painlike a knife in his gut.Forget the hand.He fumbles for itso as to stab somebody.The grayness of her facefloats across his disturbed visionand disappears.Nothing has changed.Bats whir in the dark.The jetty juts seaward.He slipped on fish-slimed boardscoming home.His knees are bruisedand his whole body smells of ocean.An irreverent woman could drown in himif she's not careful.But she is careful,acts as cautiouslyas a cat on an icy sidewalk."Where does it hurt?" she asks.He falls into her arms.A faint ghost of a teartrickles down betweenhis check and her hairlike a fishing boat in fog.By the time it drips from his chin.everything has changed.