essex-marina-home

– 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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