RUNNING FOR HOME   

 

Rain in the harbor.

A fine mist falling from a high

sun streaked cloud bank, gentle rain

falling like folds being shaken from

a lacy curtain.

 

I hear water hissing

under car tires on Ocean Blvd.

A truck slides to a stop at the traffic signal.

Someone stands on a horn.

A siren shrills past my corner

and heads downtown. The rain picks up.

A cacophony of thunder surges toward me

from a coming black bank of clouds

at the edge of the horizon.

A storm’s coming, maybe a big one.

A sail at the mouth of the harbor,

just beyond the breakwater. I pick up

my binoculars & focus down.

Looks to be a twenty footer bobbing

in the swells. The current trying to push her into

the wall of rocks just by the lighthouse.

I make out the shape of a man dressed

out in yellow slicks.

He’s alone.

He’s hanging onto the tiller and riding his tack

for everything he’s worth.

I watch with excitement as he slides into

the mouth of the channel,

missing the grey rocks by only a boat length.

He stands up, swings the boom, his tiny craft

bucks over a wave, and changes direction.

He’s running for home.

 

As he gets closer to the beach,

I see his face.

He’s a man around my age.

He’s pouring something

hot from a thermos into a mug.

Smiling as if he was the luckiest guy

in the world, maybe he is.

 

He looks at the sky, then right up at me

and smiles. I watch him sail by pelted with rain.

What would it be like to be him.

To sail into the rain, and smile.

I’d sail to Catalina.

Sailing fish would follow my shadow,

dolphins would ride as high as my bow.

 

I begin to smile, too.

 

About this time the Harbor Patrol

siren & blue lights on, charge up next to him.

They throw a line & take him into tow.

dragging him toward the docks,

He slumps back into his seat.

Smile gone.

Civilization had him by the throat.

I sigh, stare at the bay in falling rain.

After awhile. I decide to walk up the beach

in spite of the weather.