Adam Fisher


 One night Robert climbed a tree and sat on a branch, but when he found he was in
the way of raccoons coming down for their nightly foray into garbage cans he
climbed down and sat in his usual spot at the edge of the darkened garden. On
clear nights he looked up and counted shooting stars—his record was eleven. Most
nights he walked down the deserted streets, checked out the dumpster behind the
pizza place and managed to find enough leftovers for a meal. During the day he
slept in his hideaway behind cinderblocks underneath a house—they had no idea he
was there. Everyday he asked himself the same question: “What am I doing?” And
everyday he gave himself the same answer: “I don’t know.“


back to top



send comments to info@poetrybay.com

first electronic copyright 2000 poetrybay. 
all rights revert to author



Poetrybay seeks fine poetry, reviews, commentary and essays without restriction in form or content, and reserves first electronic copyright to all work published. All rights to published work revert to the author following publication. All Email submissions should be in body of email text.

To submit poems write to:

PO Box 114 
Northport NY 11768
or email us at 

send comments to info@poetrybay.com

first electronic copyright 2004 poetrybay. 
all rights revert to authors

website comments to dpb@islandguide.com