On the Sale of My Boat
I wave, embarrassed, knowing the cadence of stars,
a mariner’s instinct of time on the lakes,
navigation flags down, fenders hanging in the harbors,
a weathered skipper retrieved by land
and there, my loyal boat hitched dryly behind their pickup
on a Monday, cashed in, perched high on its trailer,
tied down properly, chrome polished sacred
allegiance handed over on a leash.
The stow of lines and mooring canvas,
the Bimini top once between us and the sun or
pop-up storms on Saginaw Bay
all theirs now,
all theirs. I keep her radio for my desk
seized with dry static,
incapable of language or signals-
nothing left to say.
They looked so happy pulling away
their windows down
I heard their music and children in skinny life-jackets laughing
as they turned too sharply into a thudding wake.
They will learn… what it took to get the boat back onto its trailer
when it was getting late in the Michigan dusk.
That was my last summer
the fishing boats waiting impatiently to launch
from the public access ramps and gray plank docks of Wolverine Lake
winding her in with the tick of the winch
no, thank you, I told them all, lying politely
then slowly got out of their way.
.
Ken Been’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. A recent sampling includes KAIROS Literary Magazine, The Headlight Review, Arlington Literary Journal, Poems of the Psyche, and Plainsongs. Earlier, his poems appeared in Passages North, Midstream, Poetica Magazine, Remembering Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and Speckled Trout Review, among others. A grandfather, he is from Detroit. He can be reached at Ken.Been@outlook.com.
And yes… he did keep the marine radio, seized with dry static, nothing left to say.
.
Stone Poetry Quarterly 