Edge of heavy rain, ocean approaching,
Island sweeping, downpours on Fundy
Bay. Morning on Dark Harbour, skiff
Ready, misty clouds moved in. Grand
Manan makes its own weather, clear
And sunny on Atlantic side, to west,
Maine coast has disappeared, fog horn
Distant blaring on ferry from Blacks
For now, Lobster traps are soaking,
Buoys fog-lost, boats tied up, half
Mile from coast, clifftops are cloud-
Lost. Still it’s not a morning for
Sleeping in, no peace, there’s always
Work to do. If I want true vacation,
I leave waterside, the island, and its
Troubles, drive into New Brunswick
Or see the family on Campobello Isle,
Lobstering cousins living in Lubec.
This morn, as rain and fog move in,
Water is mirror still, tidy up a few
Things on the boat, chatter on the
Marine VHF concern-confirming. She’s
Thick as gauze out there, Maine and
Grand Manan boys negotiating trap
Buoys around Machias Isle, lighthouse
Disappeared. It’s time to bring her
Home, and like me, smoke a cigarette
And listen for incoming diesels.
Poem inspired by heavy rain on the shore. Will be wearing boots all
weekend, wearing hooded sweatshirt, “donating blood” to mosquitoes.
Thanks for reading.