Amy Ann

Once a sleek and powerful fishing boat swollen with pride, Now rusting neglected in a nowhere mute marina Where three of fourteen boats still work the seas for a catch. Your mighty diesels roared to life, thunder across the bay. Your deck was alive with a nimble crew, young and strong to fish. You strained against the ropes at dock once when you were young, Eager to slice out into the sleek blue deep. Tourists watched as you backed out, turned your bow to face The giant Pacific, determined and able to cross the bar. Did your captain spin your wheel with delight? Did he thrill at your hard power, twin diesels engaged one quarter, Then half, then full as you flew off each day to ride the wet? Your tank is empty now Amy Ann. You no longer dance with the sea. Your battery is dead; there is no juice to run. How long have you slept, roped to this rotting dock? Do you remember bouncing over playful waves, The slap of your bow down hard then to jump ahead in the air? Have you forgotten your friends, the wind and salty spray? Who loves Amy Ann now? What became of the fishing life? Who works long hours with little reward Romancing a mighty life, an honest, hard way to live? Who loves Amy Ann now?