it is November 15,
and there is one sailboat
still resolutely moored in the harbor,
and I wonder:
is the owner
merely an optimist,
who firmly believes
that Winter's sting
will not come,
or is he a wild-eyed fool,
who will sail in any weather,
so enamored of the salty spray,
that he would risk his life
in dark, icy waters,
heaving his craft up and down,
side to side, threatening
to swallow boat and sailor,
or maybe he is dead, and no longer
has need of his jib;
or maybe his wife's ass
has enough allure
to keep his boat moored,
while he is otherwise engaged.

November 15, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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