Standing

Small fish in the net
Is the best that we can get
If we’re dry upon the sand,
But we have hopes more grand.

If it is our deepest wish
To haul in the big fish
We must take on the chore,
And sail away from shore.

Once land is out of sight
Sometimes through the night
Real fear is no stranger.
We know there can be danger.

We make good plans to be safe
Though the life vest still may chafe
A slip, a trip, avast, a flip
We’re off the bobbing ship.

Our work is never easy
And we often do get queasy
But now there is black dread
We expect soon to be dead.

Waves rise, splash and smash
And over us they crash
No, this, now, is no joke
As, on thick water, we choke.

Shallow, cold and salty
Our breath becomes faulty
Wet inhale, then sputter
Weak shouts our best utter.

But that is good enough
Real sailors, they are tough
And watch out for each other
Both for sister and for brother.

Our feeble cries are heeded.
Friends know just what is needed
Line thrown, and toss of a ring
A reach, hand grasped, just the thing.

Again upon the solid planks
Blanket wrapped and giving thanks
With some release of honest stress
It’s time to think and reassess.

In spite of all real dangers
We are not alone with strangers
We’re back in our right place
With a refreshed sense of grace

With a shaky rasp and shudder,
Grab tight again the rudder.
A deep breath, perhaps a sob,
Then we’re back to do the job.
Poetry Port Commission for @anna_phd

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