KEEL Poem by Ruth Lasters

Boats wear beards under water,
strands of seaweed and algae, slowing them down

as if there were growing there wilfully beards of
lost fathers, who never once heard: Dad, you did it Well-

shaved keels cleave razor-sharp
fast. Boat beards never reach ocean beds or become so long

that whoever spies them diving needs
gills. For everyone it is a different delightful walk

- for me along this weathered quay - where each
of us paid the price of not having

gills.