Fog Off the Harbor. 8/10/09

If I had no sense of direction

And no prior knowledge of where I was

I might think this was a fog was coming in off the harbor

In a place like New Jersey or Portland, Oregon.

And just beyond that building

Maybe another block down was an old shipyard,

Filled with skiffs, and wharfs, and a beaten down barge

Waiting to be used again.

The traffic might be drowning the cries of the gulls

Or they could still be asleep.

And there is a beaten down shop

Serving stale coffee

To weathered men in yellow slickers

And black stocking caps

Who remind me of The Old Man And The Sea.

Each morning I could put on my water proof shoes

And head down to the shore.

I’d collect broken glass, torn netting,

And pieces of wood

That were more like bone now

After being polished by the waves and sand.

The salt in the air would pickle my skin

And I wouldn’t know that the town I was in

Was old Omaha

So far away from the Ocean

And surrounded by land.

I would think this fog was coming in off the harbor

In a place like San Fransisco or somewhere in New England,

And I’d be a happier man.

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Author: D Nash

Family. Fly fishing. Music.

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