Vineyard Haven summer of '57

Out at the far end of the pier
we'd sit for hours
in the semi-dark
with flickering lamplight
making the water surface sparkle
as it sloshed
against the pilings down below
long summer nights
tasting the salt air
smelling the creosote
while the whole dock
creaked with the tidal flow
we'd cut the squid
in strips to bait our droplines
and wait to feel the tug
that meant a conger eel
was on the hook

Saving our catch
not for ourselves but for Manuel
old Portugee who knew how
to prepare them
it was just the simple joy
of being there
away from any challenges
the world might have in store
for carefree boys of summer
we had no way
to know how fortunate we were
to have that freedom
or how soon the signs
No Loitering on the Dock
No Fishing would appear
as the world closed in on itself