Man On the Docks

May 31, 2016

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The fog chilled my fingers
and a bell clanged all’s well
far, far out a horn moaned to tell
the old crew had set sail

The old crew and the old wood
that creaked in the lapping tide
left him there, lines untied
and his pipe trickled smoke

Red-nosed and bundled
he hauled the old marlin round
his meaty hands with a rasping sound
coiled each bight and muttered

Of the sea and the yard
and the rime
that seemed to layer him
as much as the timber
on which we stood

I watched him lay
the line perfectly
then we trudged
up the wharf
through the mist

He told me of a book
he’d written many of these
of the far western seas
and his adventures there

I’d read it before, here in my chair
I only knew this salt of a man
because of the books from his hand
they painted him so well

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One Response to “Man On the Docks”

  1. Rob Hickok Says:

    Of course, I don’t think he ever smoked a pipe, but it works.


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