Chantilly lace curtains of my apartment window ripple in the cold January night. From here, I observe mooring lights that illumine the docks in this petty northern port and four cafés that lean toward one another, side-by-side, though separate and apart. I wonder at their co-location. Their twinkling lights blur together in a loud kaleidoscope of color.
The harbor winds carry putrid odors to my window. Sidewalk signs cover most of the walkway. Though too distant to register detail, I discern the outline in flickering neon of two women outside the smallest café as men clad in oilskin foulies lumber into the second, barely a bar, as they all are. Faint modern dance rhythms announce a tiny dance floor inside the third. The brightest café-bar has no one visible. A lone figure in casual attire moves from café to café, not staying long. He moves in the same pattern, over and again, stopping once to chat with the women. I wonder what or who he seeks. The women disappear down a side pathway.
With a desultory outlook for the evening, I close my window, wrap against the cold, and descend the European-styled spiral staircase.
Categories:
oilskin, environment, january, men, music,
Form: Prose
WHALING IN 1844
All hands came aboard
In March we left Deptford
Bound for Greenland’s whales and
Rather it was Wales’s green land.
The lookout on the mainmast tied
Saw her white spout and cried
“Thar she blows, mates”
And the shellbacks straight
Manned the harpoon boats
Pulling tight their oilskin coats
Even in the teeth of the squall
Captain Thomas called to overhaul
Boats were lowered and men aboard
Thinking of their whale-reward
Harpoon struck and the line paid out
She leapt with pain and turned about
The blue tail went skyward
Here was their whale reward
Smash into the boat and five
Floating men no longer alive
Losing the men was adverse
But losing the whale was a curse
The school would disperse
Affecting each man’s purse
The Baffin ice was thicker now
Under the yards, under the prow
So we set sail for England half-full
And ran south our icy hull
Home now and a short-time lull
We’ll soon be back for another cull.
Categories:
oilskin, men, men,
Form: Couplet