Those Days Poem by Way Lenn

My mind is back at the pier;
A silver scale winks when
Brought to the light.
We felt grand there,
Investing our lines,
Youthfully passing time.
The best part were the ferries,
Every hour, churning the water
To dock, arriving like a boiling
White visitor.
Hours spent at the tip of
A finger that stretched a mile-long,
Grey and aiming, pointing.
I could taste the saltwater on
My tongue; days filled with that,
And skin weathered and stinging;
People stepping on and off
The white voyage, their journey
Marked like a memory in the water,
Out to the horizon.
Those days.