Selected Poems
Crabbing
After any summer storm, before dawn, with anxious and idle unemployed hands
we walked to the bay, near the bridge, with bags of defrosted silver moss bunkers.
Gutted fish were placed in crab traps, on beds of Guinness dark sea grass
Each fish pierced with wire, through eyes and wrapped around the spine
so bait cannot be dragged out of the trap. We checked each rot-out escape plank was secure
We began, hiking along the side of the bridge, with the beach bound cars
After every open arm span, we slowly dropped our pots along the pilings.
We watched wire trap boxes open and sink with a trail of blood and bubbles.
We would wait, lazy, scan the sunrise at the airport and barriers islands
We wondered if we would ever take a flight across the sea and pointed into a new horizon.
We would wave hello back to cousins and ancestors, so they could see how far we had come.
After 20 minutes, we would walk back to the first trap and quickly snap up each pot
Doors would close and we rapidly pulled, hand over hand, to work each trap back to the roadway
We return to the beach, dumping blue claw crabs into buckets to check our catch.
We measure each with a caliper card, separating spiked males from domed females.
We would carry up our traps and with arms outstretched like smoking censers
and scuttle back and forth, under the bridge along the bulkhead to the commuter bound side.
We begin again and again, hoping to out run heat and scavenge enough crab by noon
to bring home for surprise dinner, for 3 floors of family, still sleeping in our home.
we walked to the bay, near the bridge, with bags of defrosted silver moss bunkers.
Gutted fish were placed in crab traps, on beds of Guinness dark sea grass
Each fish pierced with wire, through eyes and wrapped around the spine
so bait cannot be dragged out of the trap. We checked each rot-out escape plank was secure
We began, hiking along the side of the bridge, with the beach bound cars
After every open arm span, we slowly dropped our pots along the pilings.
We watched wire trap boxes open and sink with a trail of blood and bubbles.
We would wait, lazy, scan the sunrise at the airport and barriers islands
We wondered if we would ever take a flight across the sea and pointed into a new horizon.
We would wave hello back to cousins and ancestors, so they could see how far we had come.
After 20 minutes, we would walk back to the first trap and quickly snap up each pot
Doors would close and we rapidly pulled, hand over hand, to work each trap back to the roadway
We return to the beach, dumping blue claw crabs into buckets to check our catch.
We measure each with a caliper card, separating spiked males from domed females.
We would carry up our traps and with arms outstretched like smoking censers
and scuttle back and forth, under the bridge along the bulkhead to the commuter bound side.
We begin again and again, hoping to out run heat and scavenge enough crab by noon
to bring home for surprise dinner, for 3 floors of family, still sleeping in our home.
