his love

 


the man on the phone tells me this boat  
is the boat for me  
is the one I need for what I want to do  
 
have seen the pictures of her
have read the ad  
have done my homework  
but still don’t get the feeling enough  
to put my short arms  
in my long pockets  
 
decide to ask around  
get on to the bloke who owned her before him  
the guy who owned her twenty years  
sailed every bit of blue  
he could get too
and only gave her up  
when his hip got the rot too bad  
to climb the mast  
or boil the tea  
 
rang him  
his voice reedy  
thinned with age
old-school polite
 
could tell
he was a straight one  
 
asked him  
“would you buy her back”  
and he paused long  
 
I had asked him more  
than his opinion on a boat  
 
we love them you know  
when we sleep with them
when we spend enough hours on the deck of them  
the sea not always playin’ friendly  
and we feel pride to sail into a bay  
on a rough day  
drop sails  
anchor  
knowing  
if it’s done well
all the other skippers are pleased too
to see a good boat  
loved  
 
“he said he’d do the work she needed  
but instead I’ve watched her sit  
tied up on her mooring  
for three years  
going nowhere
 
nothin’ harder on a boat than that
 
he did have a party on her once  
 
I heard the dinghy hit her so hard  
I swear I heard something crack”  
 
he paused  
then asked me  
“what about you son
are you a sailor  
or a man who likes to work on boats?”  
 
I said “sailor mate, all the way”  
 
he paused again  
breaking his own heart  
said “run away from her  
 
she’s has been left too long”  
and I thanked him true
thanked him for being a sailor  
not a romantic  
 
meant it  
 
hung up  
crossed her off the list  
 
I feel sorry for him;  
his twenty years of joy
rotting in the bay
out his front window  
the story dead  
 
had half a mind to ring the guy selling the boat  
tell him something  
 
 
didn’t  
 
 
boats are all female for a reason  
'cos sometimes  
just like real women  
some arsehole lets 'em down