Hibbert Gore

I was inspired to write a story about a sad, lonely man, after reading a twitter feed http://t.co/YYa27COE about two cities in the US that are only listed as having populations of one. Hibbert Gore, Maine, then became the protagonist of this short poem, which I could not get to sleep before finishing.

Hibbert Gore

Hibbert Gore lived on the first floor of a cottage built alongside the shore
He jogged, each morn, one mile to four, then circled around, right back to his door
In the afternoon, with just one oar, he'd paddle his boat 'til his arm was sore
Then fish for tuna, or albacore, and return back home to cook his score
His life was not easy--most times was a bore--and he'd awaken each day, alone on that shore
Alone in that cottage, he would die on that floor; just the waves, and the air, and poor Hibbert Gore.