Standing

 

Shoving it out,
Wading into the surf
Then climbing onboard
And putting the 75-pound
Centerboard down,
That was my proper
Place and there I sat;

Sailing out near
A rock out-cropping,
Dropping the
Thirteen-pounder,
Pulling back the Seagull
And easing over the side
Where I truly belonged.

Later we’d dock
And eat something
At the Captain’s Locker.
The Potter rocking
In clear view outside
The restaurant’s window.
Up on a ridge I watched

Ben and Duffy run up
To follow me down.
There was no place
We didn’t go, them
Running and me stopping
Now and then briefly
Before moving on.