This poem first saw the light of day at FourTiesLitReview this time last year. i was grateful then & remain so. They are open for submissions, so send your best.
This is a revised version from the original.

Fishermen

i find scorch marks, black smears
barely noticeable against scoria rock hemming
the sea wall, a place concealed from the road
where tourists seldom trespass due to the stench of sewage
from a nearby factory— here fishermen gathered

: the picked ribs of mackerel, a ribbon
of its blue scales in the extinguished embers
a stack of soju bottles, splintered
disposable chopsticks, tipped with ramen stains
in 5 neat piles where each man sat.

what did the men discuss, what tantrums?
i see no footprints back to the road
there seems to be no testimony
as to where they were destined next
—did they jump into the sea & swim to greet the dawn?