Anchor To Windward Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

Lakeboat mariners look forward to winter lay-up all summer long. The last voyage north from the steel mills in South Chicago begins before dawn with autumn winds and a cup of hot black coffee from the galley to ward off the chill. Guys congregate on the wind-swept decks, stomping feet and talking of this and that - wives and kids and days spent lounging before the new TV and drinking Budweiser.

'See you next spring, Mick? '

'Not on the Mighty Fitz, you won't! '

His shipmates laugh. They all know Mick's final paycheck is all but spent as soon as he signs off the boat. His wife and three kids live in a four room flat in Canaryville on Chicago's south side. Mick's not ready to swallow the anchor yet. He'll be back with the rest of us eager to sail another season on the Lakes. We keep an anchor to windward.

first day of November
raw winds astern-
lake is dark and deep

life ashore-
rent due
first of the month

morning till night
chores to do-
house in disarray

bar tab
eats up the bonus-
wife in a snit

first day of April
seabag packed-
Mighty Fitz welcomes us