Fish Out of Water

By Philip Pompetti

The sun rising over

The mountains. They

Are far off in

The distance from me

But I can still

See them clear

Enough.

The boat I am

On rocks steadily

And there are grey

Clouds off in

The distance

Red sky at night

Sailors delight,

Red sky in morning,

Sailors warning.

I have heard the

Weather reports

I have seen first-

Hand the power

Of the ocean.

I know what it

Is I am about to face

I know where I am

Set to go.

But amidst this

Internal uproar

Of fear of what 

I will soon face

There is a calm

That I cannot

Quite express.

My captain seems

Sure of hand

And quick of mind,

Caring underneath

His necessary

Stiffness and anger.

He will lead us

Both into the

Roiling, boiling sea

One last time.

The last five weeks

Have gone away in a blur

And I am worried

That our last trip out

Might be our last ever.

Thirty knot winds,

He says,

Ten foot seas.

Words I have already

Heard from the

Mouths of others

And the mouth of

Our ships radio.

Be prepared,

He says with

Just a grain of unease,

Be prepared

To set back the reel

And switch the hy-

Draulics over

When I say to.

I’m ready, Skip,

I know he hates 

That name. Ready

When you are,

One last time out,

One last day on

These great alaskan

Waters. One last

Trip before my

Summer work is done.