AT ST. JOHN'S, NEWFOUNDLAND - poem

Ships at bay
meander in joyful play
awaiting the crunch of boots
thump-thumping across
these docks

awaiting the stench of
fish-catch
bread to feed his babies
to say, screw the UIC
don’t want pogey no more
just fishing, that’s my
style

my granddaddy and poppa before
me and now my turn.

The Narrows protect the boat-fleet
of all sizes, tethered as goats
swaying with the swells
waiting for the fishermen.

And the babies and the wives
hope today’s catch is gosh darn good.