Marina

A folly of pleasure boats
crams the marina,
sterns to the ocean,
bows facing the shore
as if to say, “we’re here,
we’ve arrived”.

They are a motley crew:
plucky tug boats straight out of a children’s story book;
sleek, testosterone –fueled speedsters
utilitarian skiffs,
large, white, tiered confections
in which ruddy-faced men
wearing navy blue blazers
with gold anchors on the lapels
drink gin and tonics at five;

boats big enough
to house a scandal
involving a member of the Royal Family.

But at the moment it’s quiet,
mid-week, and nothing shaking.
A pair of red Cape Cod chairs
sits empty at the end of the dock
like an ad for a retirement investment fund.
A pencil of light streaks across the water
from a house on the other side of the bay.

The boats look abandoned,
like dogs waiting for their owners to return.

Taking part in Open Link over at dverse.