Provincetown Poem by Bob Bowers

They must seek you out
Here among these cobblestones and stairs
Along these ancient streets
Wandering down to grey piers
Spread like fingers of a supplicating hand,
The frosting of the ocean’s churn
Washing across their battered knees,
As they, like you,
Reach for the far shore which we,
Who stay behind, cannot see.

Are you lonely?
As all those poets who follow behind
Like your wedding train,
Lacing their words with Irish wit,
English vagaries,
Opaque arabesques,
French bon mots,

They are just writers of words
Echoing in the distance
Coming back to haunt
Coming back not at all
Coming back
Always coming back
To you.

And what do you say to them
When they look at you with their sad, doe eyes,
Yearning for wisdom and more,
Yearning for recognition,
Yearning for a life more than their own,
Yearning for the life that is yours
With their names spelt out in gold.

12/30/09