DOCK DRAMA

Limp in his chair atilt against a shack An old man broods o’er newspaper and smoke Where shingle-quilted pent roofs back to back Checker from grey of ash to black of coke; Dim squares of window, opal-paned, baroque, Waver on water, pearling it to deep Weedwafted droop of shifting shadow cloak Where swirls of silver imagery sweep. Slow ribboning to the surface serpent rings Of mast reflections quiver into grey Upon the incoming tide that softly brings One high-peaked sail along the buoyant way Where questing water tentatively steals Fingering mossy spiles and undulant keels. The steam boat dock’s a stage where nightly speak The actors in some ribald skit of Trade Here serried barrels screen a jester’s freak And piles of trunks made pirate ambuscade. Red lanterns slackly swung and lights of jade Accent accordions’ pert canzonette; Or furry trawls along the string piece laid Trip oil-skinned fisherman’s hulking silhouette. A massive barge like enigmatic tomb Toward a sea-scented land of dark drifts down; Dim on the East the sandy headlands loom Till dawn rings up green trees and steepled town. Then like applause in broken scattering sound The motor boats speed to the clamming ground.