Homecoming

Down on the pier, the midmorning bright, Thronged wives, husbands, lovers, And sons, friends, young daughters, All eyes perusing the grand and gray ship In long-simmered hope of glimpsing one face, One much-beloved grin, among antsy sailors Arrayed in white jumpers along the tall deck, ‘Til, filing like ants, crew at last disembarked: A long, gangling line descended the gangway, Dispersed and filtered, absorbed by the crowd, One young and trim yeoman elbowing through, Enfolding his wife—petite, trembling gal— Into long, lanky arms, her buxom breast pressing, Squeezing tight to his chest And stoking, thereby, his half-a-year’s yearning To hold and be kissed, To kiss once again this doll from high school— And the assemblage transformed By thinning and ebbing away from the pier, While that sailor still kissed, hugged his wife tight, Past months dissolving, by love overwhelmed, ‘Til, still holding close, they silently strolled Relieved he’d returned— He’d come home to his wife.