Freight car was home.
We retreat here when the sickle shines
Our pinkies aren’t pink anymore
Our tugboat of coconut shells
and our threadbare paddles
made us experts in attaching fishhooks to
snells. A holler of herring, haddock,
trout or salmon gave us oxygen to our
lungs. We clamp the air into crates,
then we negotiate in the marketplace.
The only perils we face are those
hammerheads and sea bass skulking
in high tide.
I also shuck oysters in exchange
for an apple cider.
Those green crabs come in swatches
yet we collect them in our zinc pails.
Those schooners dock in the quay
It is drowsy in the pier
We disengage our rusty treble hooks,
ungrip those sculls from our oars
positioning our shittah rudder plank,
trawler’s nets and our main catch
for the day
Tomorrow we will greet the sunkist
Our catgut lines are our shivs,
our threadbare needles,
our veins.
Now, we return home
In livid flashlights
We perked up our gas lanterns
savoring every flicker
as the outside grew glimmer
and fainter with the last sip of
black coffee.
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