fresh memory

Coils and rigging, some sails if they’re needed.

cables and netting and tubes that’v been bleeded.

just simple men working, God bless ’em in full

in what’s left of clean water and non-muddied gull

the fish which team are their arm-wrestling tables

each cowboy on board chasing pike to the stables

no woman has tamed them, no storm do they cower

for they aren’t chasing fame and they don’t lust for power

they rare speak in rumors, you know each one’s mind

and when push comes to shove, at your back you’ll them find

bloodied knuckles, spent muscles, it’s just part of the gig

and when they brag of sizes it’s their catch that is “big”.