There's something both lonely and exciting
on first seeing tied up at the dock a boat
you've signed on for the shipping season
on the Great Lakes
It might be a boat with rusty hull stained
and dented lying at rest tethered by steel
hawsers to a loading dock outside
a foundry in Superior, Wisconsin
You hoist lumpy duffel onto your shoulder
and negotiate the shaky ladder to the deck
making your way forward to crew quarters
housed below the whitewashed pilot house
There's something about casting off lines
and feeling the engines vibrating underfoot
as the boat slowly moves into the dark blue
waters of Lake Superior outbound
The boats are gone now and life aboard
just a dream that recurs now and again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem