After the Funeral
by Anne Earney
Rusty metal cables held the boat dock in place, pulled tight across the faded, washed rocks leading to the boat
ramp. Boyd stepped up high over them as he zigzagged towards the dock. Near the water, the concrete boat ramp
crumbled into lake gravel. Boyd wondered how much longer he could let it go before it would be unsafe to put boats
in. He made a mental note to mention it to his son, Roy, who would come down and fix it as easily as tying his shoe.
As Boyd stepped onto the dock walkway, turtles plopped into the water off the Styrofoam floats. Ploop, ploop, ploop.
His heel slipped on the black metal mesh stretch of the ramp, and he gripped the rail, a grimace on his face from
the imagined pain of his old bones hitting the hard ramp.
In the hot shade of the boat dock, flies buzzed around him, attracted to the fish blood and scales someone left on
the cutting board. Boyd couldn't bring himself to clean it. He frowned and waved his heavy hand through the air,
unnoticed by the flies.
Forgetting what he'd come down for, he walked over to the fishing dock, covered in green mosses etched with the
footfalls of many fishers. Bass and walleye lurked in the depths, still, cold and regal. Boyd placed his hands on the
rail and leaned over the edge. He stared into the dark water.
One fish turned its eyes upwards as a tear hit the water.