Scared sisters fake still sleep
A mother’s cough down the hall
Dressed and ready to rage
Waiting for the tap and call
He comes a-fishing at night
Throwing out his line
Out the window and into trouble
The dark paths revealed in time
Blundering on backseats
Or in basements, family free
2 am on muggy August nights
Secreted under a tree
Electricity in the pockets
Time and space unfold
Swaggering and confident
Or fumbling uncontrolled…
Throwing out his line
He comes a-fishing once more
At another Juliet’s window
Waiting on the second floor
Inspired by this Substack article by Amanda Fortini
15th Jul 2026 – shared with dVerse – night
1994ever 
Electricity in the pockets…I like that! Modern romantic. Nice.
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Well – I remember those days…
Thanks PC 🙏
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Great cinematic piece Shaun – you do a good job of balancing high-stakes teenage drama with the mundane, gritty realities of youth🙌
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Thank you Ange 🙏
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I see he’s fishing for trouble as much as romance! If a poem can be jaunty and perilous at the same time, your achieved it in this wonderful poem, Shaun, and the form fits right well. Your “night fishing” metaphor is just right for this patient but energetic “fish” catcher. “Throwing out his line” indeed!
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Thanks Dora 🙏 Appreciated
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My pleasure, Shaun. 🙂
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Romance at night… like that, but there are dangers too.
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blundering on backseats doesn’t sound good…hormones gone amuck .. haha.
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I think it has happened…. 😯
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I gotta admit, he sounds a bit creepy, but your cadence clips along singingly.
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I never did gel well with the local ‘lady-chasers’ as a teen. I can’t quite imagine it from the female point of view, though sympathise/empathise very much.
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