Our Daily Bread Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

We cast off bow and stern lines about midnight,
the S.S. Delarue edges out into the channel
alongside the thousand yard breakwater.
Tons of iron ore stowed in holds fore and aft.
Buoys and tinkling brass bells mark our passage
toward the deep water of the lake. Even in late August
we don wool shirts and caps to work the deck.

Chet and I sit on hatch covers, mugs of coffee in hand,
as silent as brother Trappists bound by our silence
as we contemplate our mutual fate as deckhands-
three hundred plus dollars a month, room and board,
and a voyage up the lake to Sault Ste Marie
The mate's voice breaks our reverie- 'Guys, get busy! '
We get up to fasten 600 turnbuckles on hatches
to earn our daily bread sailing north to Superior!