Things unseen from the corner of the eye.

[oneighty]

Been alone on my Vicky Mary boat for many days trawling the ocean for shrimp from sunrise to sunset. I anchor up in a salt-water creek protected from the ocean waves for the night. I cook up some shrimp and grits on my two-burner propane fired gas stove.

Last summer I brought a a young want to be shrimper with me. He lasted part of the first day. He became terrible sea sick, poor guy. He does not come with me again.

Alone out here with lots of time to think I make up stories, write poems. I sing songs to myself. I admire the stars; there are so many many stars to admire.

Sometimes I catch a movement from the corner of my eye, a passing shadow. I turn quickly startled. No one, nothing is ever there. Or is there?

A Fisherman's Night Dream.

I throw my anchor to the muddy creek.
The boat drifts back on the falling tide.
The anchor holds.
I make it fast tight and neat
Make it fast to the forward cleat.

I move about and clean the deck
Nets hung high so they may dry.
Gear all stowed and put away
All is set for another day.

Now in the galley I make supper
Onions shrimp and bread and butter.
Fish and beans and boiled rice
All washed down with Kool-Aid water.

A clean white sheet upon my bed
A soft clean pillow to rest my head
Another sheet to keep some heat
A cool wind is gently blowing.
Oh sure! It will be a wonderful night.

I lay back and stare at darkness
ancient memories within my head
Of olden friends some now dead
Of those I loved and those I wronged.
Bitter memories tear my soul.

The earth now turns beneath the water
The rising tide will shortly follow
Turning my boat from end to end
Sleep in turn calms my fears
I close my eyes on lonely tears.

An olive face drifts into view
Within her arms a crying child
Her slanted eyes search my soul
Her brown dry eyes are wild wild
Oh Lord I beg her. Let me be.

I bolt upright from restless sleep
My trembling feet on the dewy deck
My pounding heart is slowing down.
What is that scratching? What is that sound?
On the blue painted bottom of my boat.

What creepy thing engulfs my soul?
What pulls and twists me to the rail?
What takes me into muddy water?
And chokes forever my screams of terror.

Taken there by those once loved.

1979. From Voyages of the Vicky Mary. Copyrighted.

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