by Glen Martin Fitch
We shoved off.
I took starboard,
you took port and rudder,
I the jib.
The rising sail puffs proudly,
slackens then inhales in sport.
Will we have
shifting gusts or calm or gale?
Above the ribbons,
one on either side,
take turns,
to flutter, fall, flash red or green
to signal changes in the wind and
guide us where to steer,
which way to shift and lean.
I want today
to be a special day
and yet I fear
I'll see your anger flare.
If we can stay in rhythm,
task, and play
perhaps you won't observe
my jealous glare.
By dock
will there be tears
amid the brine?
I scan your face
for any tell-tale sign.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011