Who Says It's His Worst Day? Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

Who wrote that one's worst day
is never true until one has no more
days to spend or to squander?

You don't know, do you?

Be dogged if I do, Mick.

They sat on the wharf in the bay
with fishing poles in hand
red bobbers bobbing in the water-
A pewter gray sky overhead
and a dingy seagull circling
and bobbing for perch.

You know of course
that it all depends
on a white chicken
beside a red wheelbarrow
in the backyard?

I ain't a poet for nothing,
he said. Course I do!