Maritime

The dawn harbor, frantic with screeching gulls and checklists.

Veteran ships bob harshly against the rotting bulkhead,

entangled by frayed ropes, tightly secured.

Deckhands marching to Skipper’s orders.

A horn’s low buzz, like neon tubing,

pierces the sweeping fog.

The early sun beams through low clouds,

brilliant yellow, spotlighting coarse waves.

In a shadow between two buildings,

a woman clenches rosary beads.

The hem of her dress skims a murky puddle,

her wiry gray hair is windswept.

A fisherman along the wharf prepares his shop.

His eyes, clouded. Leathery skin, loose on his bones.

He trips over the corner of his stall,

knocking three mackerel to the stone pavement.