The Boat Is As Weathered As His Face

the boat is as weathered as his face it is his life, his treasure steering the prow to sea hours before dawn and in that darkness, the nets are set small talk meanders the ponga time to catch up on some sleep, other times arguments erupt between brothers keeping everyone awake watching stars once dawn has passed the nets are retrieved to pay for the daily bread it was in that uncertainty two perished as nature's fury rolled from the darkness those red skies of mourning son, brothers, husbands, fathers, friends headstones never say it all the funerals have come and gone sitting upon the late morning shore watching the fishermen, boats lie tethered their hands are honest, scarred their knives sharp, scarlet as they gut the fish above roars a maelstrom of pelicans, magnificent frigates in serious air-shore warfare for entrails and small fish these men toss there is laughter in those eyes brothers sharing the plunder of the sea once the fish are sold they share a beer stories of the sea, repair nets clean pongas and more than i will share by early afternoon they are gone such is the daily bread here where the demons howl the night the angel's right to sing dawn's glory these are the patron saints of cantinas vassals to the sea, nature's capriciousness whose fate on the morrow could be drinking in Neptune's Tavern San Blas 91 The Patient Stones for the fishermen of San Blas, Matachen Bay