Worn down by the sea
Hands calloused and rough as the boards ‘neath his boots
And hair dried by the continuing breeze
His face is imprinted with crevices and the lines that betray his years.
Salmon, scallops, and salt permeate the air
As waves crash, first loudly, then soft
Bright eyes of indigo scan the horizon
And a distant horn blasts away the fog.
There is a poignant tug and then some thrashing,
This man of the sea pulls in the boat’s lashings.
With a creak and the sound of weather-worn planks
The prickly roped net is raised
Revealing a slippery, finned creature.
Such is a brief glimpse
Into the life of a sailor.
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