Perched on the bow
one of the zinc-faced men spitting
through vacant teeth, tweezing shellfish
off the bottom, now clerking at Dollar General.
Oysters gone with a fresh wind, shells crushed driveways.
Mullet still flip, avoid the hook. Storms from the future
threaten small skinned houses, twisting curtains,
banging those back doors off their hinges.
No more lines of women fronting deep sinks,
knives twitching, slime gauzing freckled forearms.
Investors heel/toe on warped boards, squinting through
Maui Jim’s while a great blue heron escapes the sunset.
one of the zinc-faced men spitting
through vacant teeth, tweezing shellfish
off the bottom, now clerking at Dollar General.
Oysters gone with a fresh wind, shells crushed driveways.
Mullet still flip, avoid the hook. Storms from the future
threaten small skinned houses, twisting curtains,
banging those back doors off their hinges.
No more lines of women fronting deep sinks,
knives twitching, slime gauzing freckled forearms.
Investors heel/toe on warped boards, squinting through
Maui Jim’s while a great blue heron escapes the sunset.
