The Boat moves quickly
through the early morning harbor
Trying to catch the bridge
Drawing up into the sky.
Moving along side everything
in an illusive blur,
The ship hand stretches
The nets out across the dock
Thinking of the catch.
Looking to the left and right
He says, “the city line looks like a blur”
Of life passing me by”.
Later that day, schools of fish
Feel the quickening pull of a net, swallowing
Up their world in a rush.
Evening draws the boat to harbor.
Fish heads cut. body fileted. packed in ice,
they are Fresh meat for the market.
At dusk, the mates gather
Around a pint of cold beer and wonder
where the day has gone,
Wonder how softly
the boardwalk lights play
against the water,
Wonder their day away
as tired arms and raw hands greet
the numbing salve of their cup.