Bitter End Yacht Club He was wiry and black As the troughs between the waves that night And when he smiled Which was mostly all the time The teeth seemed comically white Because they were so few He introduced himself as ‘Joseph George’ – A name improbable as the Blow that turned a placid harbour crossing Into something suddenly a thrill Our launch was slamming into every crest And when the clouds moved in The club’s lights in the distance Disappeared I feigned concern, which drew her close, And liked the way her fingers Clenched my hand Joseph reassured us and he had his boy – A skinny ten year old, if that – Pull up a tarp to cover Our belongings just in case it rained He struggled with a knot But must have taken too much time Because his father slapped his face So hard he fell into our laps Then Mr. George himself finished the task My girlfriend would have stormed at him But couldn’t even stew She was so scared about the trip Although it wasn’t long before we docked Joseph, as we disembarked, Maybe fearing a reduction of his tip, Decided to explain that he was Merely trying to prepare his son, Who sat unfazed astern, For what he’d find ahead: That life was tough Who was I to argue with Such teeth? ________________________________________________________________________ Emanuel E. García, A Deeper Symmetry, 2014 |