in the old days we were better

In the old days we were better
We didn’t want as much
Small boys slept in glasshouse ashes
and later forgot the house and the ashes
The poets hit each rhyme like a stone
hitting a bottle. We made a list of words
for the worst possible sestina

Now your phone is ringing from the bottom of the bay
You can't hear it but it's ringing for you
between its beam and the last of the sunlight
a murmuring. If only we had hands
the fishes would say
if they were just like us
and could say anything