Free verse № 15732
Tugboats
The fish factory's stack spits thick steam,
smothering air with smoke and the stink
of baking snapper and salt water herring.
Packing machines stifle
waves spilling, painting sand smooth.
Gulls splash for dogfish or starve or kill each other
hovering above, waiting for disposal.
I pull a half pint from my lunch bag.
A tugboat guides a crab ship to port,
preparing for a new shift.
Men gather around the factory door, soundless -
ragged flannels concealing pale bodies burning from boiler heat,
stitched hands and scabbed fingers fresh from paring tables.
Skin soaked with the stench of rot that never goes away.
I sip whiskey as the morning horn screams.
Night men file out defeated, bodies reflecting gold in the sun.
My pop walks among them in slow rhythm with the machine beat,
his face stone from sneaking booze at break time, eyes tired.
When he reaches me he says nothing, just takes me in his arms -
wet from his skin cleanses me, sweet liquor on his breath.
Then he moves toward home as I follow the single line
straight past the time clock, into the ocean.
71 comments
Absolutely wonderful! I gave it a nine. It flows like an existential river moving into the bowels of our being.
Doug
I gather you have a drinking problem? AA does wonders, and you never know it may also cure your bad poetry, one can only hope. The continual use of the word TUG, are you a closet wanker? pervert busters can help with that problem as well. Please spare us any more inane ramblings, it falls under the cruel and unusual punnishment chapter..
say I am the next Robert Lowell. I don't know who that is or anything but they
told me about this site and I wanted to share my writing and poetry with the
world. I have a best friend and I love to play with my dog and eat happy meals.
I am a Christian, SWM who loves to chat after mommy and daddy go to bed.
Please do not be to mean to my poems. Please. Pretty please. "
With a mouth like that, I you must be some Christian
I am not mad at anything. Apparently have mistaken me for someone who has claimed to have written a poem called fleas. I never claimed any such a thing. Secondly, you could probably write better poetry if you could realize you weren't put on this earth to be the Poem Police; and Lastly, Have a nice day. I meant no harm.
Old Mother Hubbar/aka "poetandBLOWit" went to the cupboard to get her dog, Rover, a bone When she bent over, young Rover took over and gave her a bone of his own...
Old Mother Hubbar/aka "poetandBLOWit" went to the cupboard to get her dog, Rover, a bone When she bent over, young Rover took over and gave her a bone of his own...
POINT your head right up your ass just like poetandBLOWit!
you stupid little dumb fuck!
you cant read either I explained you stupid little Fuck! CANT YOU READ???????????????? DUMB ASS!
:)
I think you need some ASTRO-GLIDE for the Super vaginal dryness you have. Since you have the big mouth around here I think you should change your name Blabber Mouth Wife!
By the way it does come in easy to use pre-filled applicators and its water-based too. So now you can enjoy some real confort instead of that old Dryed out wrinkly old thing you have between your leggs.
Reply ". ABSOLUTELY HYSTERICAL!! You should really be posting on a comedy site, not on a poetry site. Someone claiming to know English, and look words up to avoid misspelling them, then turns around and puts punctuation where none is needed and then goes so far as to use the worng word altogether!! Oops..or did she just misspell "waver"? I suppose we'll never know. I have written my own verse, and to be quite frank, would rather not post it anywhere if the alternative were here, simply because the so-called poem I just read is so uninspiring and obiously neurotic as to cast a palpable pall on any kind of quality work.
wet from his skin cleanses me, sweet liquor on his breath." first how do ya know it is sweet, did ya taste it, heh, I think you and your pops have a lil midnight ass penetration going on after he gets done fishing, well I have a freind that can help, he has a bunch of Astroglide. :) oh and btw, the poem sucked ass.
Ignorance is a rare exotic fruit; touch it, and the bloom, has gone.
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