Fine Line

February

Gulf of Maine

30 miles offshore

Waves crest high as the top of the radio mast

Nothing but air and water

Dickie at the wheel

Me baiting pockets, banding lobsters

Other boats back in the harbor

Guys at the Cozy Cove

Drinking another coffee

Telling each other it ain’t fit out there today

Last of the afternoon

Spray icing decks and rails

Face gritty with salt

Sun hangs for a moment in the only slip of blue we seen all day

Dark back of the departing storm to the southward

Sea a dazzle to the nor’west

Us on the fine line between

Dickie steps away from the wheel

Let’s her run

Stands with me in the stern

Wrings out his gloves

Slaps them against his oilpants

Clears his throat

Like there’s something to say

Hands me my brush and bucket

Stars out bright by the time we make the lee under the lighthouse

Dickie idles back, shuts her down

Tide pouring out across the bar tolls the bell buoy

We drift with it

Red sweep of the light

Pointing back where we been

Canadian Club and Coke in our thermos cups

He almost smiles