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Northeast Harbor Marina
A vivid azure firmament above
coyly flounces cloud ruffles
but is seared geometrically
by the decisive white triangles
of domineering masts, thrust
with sketchy rigging more lightly etched,
while smaller, rounder, squatter boats
line up, servile, like pawns
more perfunctory transportation
than luxury, industry, or sport.
Lucrative lobster boats rumble in
with boxy wired nets
set in tangled
building block towers
and adorned with buoys
and cobra coiled ropes
like headdresses and armbands
on an ancient Egyptian princess.
Regardless of their accessorizing,
they are macho, full of muscle,
and rugged charm.
The expensive bounty
on these humble crafts
is much sought after
and their captains and crew
make their living
by laboring as long and hard
as the rich yacht owners work
at their own fixated relaxation
and spending or expanding
their more lavish affluence.
Sea and landscape
and fog and sun and wind
are currency all here share
as well as the rippling reflections
of the stout, green stained piers
that tie each dream from drifting loose,
keeping all vessels afloat
in a jumble of financed
speculative investment
of hierarchical status
and networked together
on a docked labyrinth
into a restless, corralled herd,
lapping water, lightly tethered.
Precise and succinctly organized
adorning every nautical accoutrement
and confined carefully close,
each one impatiently waits–
such ready power, now static
but primed to spring
chomping at the bit,
restless to fly free,
but meanwhile… moored
on a glassy calm,
polished smooth with anticipation
and oiled with money.
Polly Castor, 2016
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