At Bay with Mast Music
The cool, gray mist lifts
Shortly after dawn,
I rise and feel the chill
Of the morning on the bay.
From the deck of the Zephyr,
I sip the steaming coffee
And watch the waves
Breaking on the Chesapeake.
Scents of bacon
Drifting across the dock,
Remind me of breakfast
As my stomach gurgles.
The damp, salt air
Sticky in my plaid, red shirt
And greasy in my uncombed hair,
Makes the Dharma Bums pages
Slippery to touch
And hard to turn.
With the fierce winds
And the threat of storms
I must spend yet another day with
The hope of leaving remaining at bay.
Still, the lines ringing against the masts
Sound like wind-chimes.
And I hold hope for tomorrow.
