a few hours of liberty to kill
spent walking on the docks
watching shrimp boats resting,
tied in place.
what a way to make a living
was my thought
as i stared at the boats
which seemed to be covered
with ropes and netting.
i knew nothing
of the hard labor involved,
the storms braved
by salty fisherman,
the return trips with holds
not filled with shrimp.
no, in my youth and ignorance
all i could see was a boat
and the blue water
on which it sailed.
(3-29-1974)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem