Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Let your song be delicate as that
of the dock,
The ships are in! The ships are in!
Unloading the day's catch, the hum of the crane.
Mongers with ice chests. Pink belly fish.
White aprons. Air thick with salt
& conversation ---
The gnarled hands, of the jovial man, gripped tight,
as the knife slips the seam along the lips
of the shell. The violent rasp of the shuck,
unveiling delicate flesh.
The opening of the mouth, taking it across the tongue,
with that little bit of ocean. Drips off the chin.
A scavenging of seagulls overhead.
The wet slap of waves on the pilings,
a boat chugs, as it pulls off.