a dock, a working pier
out into the estuary
the pull of the tides, swaying seaweed
barnacles, algae, the smell of rot
oil, diesel, rope, netting
lobster traps shining in the filtered sun,
boards of the dock, stories they could tell
a cloud of gulls, lapping the boats
heading out for game
out on the Bay,
the lee of the Shoals
even to the Grand Banks
a working pier, bearing witness
the steel of the fishermen
who have labored here
written December 27, 2008
titled 12/12/07
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