– On the Docks and the Dunes –
… at nine I ranged freely along the northern
shoreline, over dunes, pine trees and scrub
growth on a point of sand hooked
around a fresh water
bay …
…..
I bought Black Jack, Beechnut, Dots and Bun
Candy Bars at the marina where minnows
ladled and counted from open
concrete tanks of flowing water, were
sold in batches of twenty five to
men with double buckets, boisterous
voices, wearing canvas
vests …
…..
I watched their flat or round
bottom boats, powered by Johnsons or Evinrudes, rise
up, cut white and run straight, to where
abundant numbers of schooled
perch, bass and pike waited
to be taken for the
asking by those
downstate city men who
sought their
capture …
…..
I glided over the dock one day, the
tires of my bicycle playing a steady
drum beat in concert with the
two by fours I slowly rolled
over on my way to
nowhere in particular at
that particular
time …
…..
inside boats i saw ropes and anchors, open
tackle boxes, daredevils and jitterbugs strewn
alongside fishscalers, dead ‘’minnies’’ stuck to the aluminum
gunwales, empty Shlitz and Strohs beer
cans, stringers with 20 or 30 yellow perch, covered
with flys, drying in the sun
each fish the prize for a
day spent guzzling beer while dropping
baited hooks into the chop of the
bay …
when …
….
i lost momentum, pitched to the
right … tumbling into shallow
marina water, bicycle and
all … !
…..
when i bobbed to the
surface a thick meaty
hand greetd
me …
a deep voice said,
“Can I help you up son … ?”
…..
My bicycle rose
first …
…..
after hoisting from the
water i mounted my
bicycle, rode away
dripping with
water feeling
so much
humiliation i couldn’t even say
thank
you …
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