Standing in the cool October breeze
in her jeans and t-shirt,
she waits impatiently on the broken, sandy asphalt,
next to a woman in shabby clothes,
for the muffled purr of the ferry engine.
Wandering past the abandoned boat,
an old fisherman sits between the timbers,
slowly creaking in the incoming tide.
She walks out onto the ferry dock,
carefully missing the crooked nails.
She leans over the 4th post, covered with faded initials,
and looks into the murky bay-water
only lit by the old kerosene lamp for the ferry drivers.
Among the bait-fish a dark shadow rises to the surface
like that one dark thought that creeps forward at the worst times.
Razor-edged fins and tail appear,
and she shudders and backs away from this three-foot monster.
Getting her bearings, she hangs on tight
and leans her face closer to the water,
to that disgusting, despicable creature:
Loathing it more every second,
she sits on the dock and continue to watch.
she wants to look away from this creature
that she hates, but doesn’t fully understand.
The dirty old fisherman that hangs by the dock,
The woman sitting on the street corner,
We watch and loathe them.
Why do we hate them? Yes, the shark bothers,
The fisherman curses, and
The woman begs,
Maybe because they get in the way of our schedule.
Maybe because it’s too much to care.
The ferry finally slides into the dock,
and the shark disappears into the deep,
along with her caring thoughts.
She gets on the ferry
and sits on the wet wooden bench,
slowly edging away from the old fisherman.