How I yearn for summer Gulf of Maine,
Beyond sight of rocky shores, clouds
Descending, dark waters reflecting under
Distant low-angled sun. Upon cold waves,
I idle back the diesels, drift amongst choppy
Seas, watch as scudding rain clouds sweep
Across my bow, for a moment, no concerns
Or obligations gnawing heart and soul.
Yet, heavy labours lie ahead as I drop
Heavy anchors, dozen deep lobster traps,
Poly balls bobbing upon hard waves, life
Heaving traps, trawl line streaming off
The stern, concentrating on each trap,
My gloves and boots large-sloppy, should
I get tangled in a line, quick shake,
Another Maine lobsterman gets home.
For a few moments, hot coffee in hand,
I admire the mystical sea, raise a silent
Prayer, grateful that I can return to these
Cold waters, making a living lobstering.
Too many boats like mine are laid up idle,
Traps stacked head-high under winter tarps,
Maker buoys floating in sea of backyard
Grass, fate that drives good men to a bottle.
Keep the faith I tell myself, rise above the
Fray, drive your boat upon predawn waves,
Bring her home again, moon and stars
Receding with first glimmer of ocean dawn,
Angled edge between day and night, sighted
My first radar reflector, my course set true,
Splashing sea-spray, once again this
Lobsterman is back home on Gulf of Maine.
Thanks for reading.