Glenn G. Coats
The boat is lit as it drifts like a planet in the sky. There is a slight breeze. A scent of coffee fills the air each time a cabin door opens. I fish beside my father and my son.
I lift my eyes to see
where I am
The mackerel are not hard to catch. Three bright teasers dance above the baited hooks. At times we flip two and three over the rail at a time. Buckets along the deck begin to fill and the floor turns slippery beneath our feet.
one fish the same
as the next
My son’s legs begin to wobble. We send him into the cabin for a Coke but he doesn’t return. An old salt curses through the door, says some kid heaved near the kitchen. We lead him back out on deck where he falls like a coat on a bench.
I am next. Father has a sandwich in one hand and a rod in the other. He finishes the sandwich and starts on sticks of pepperoni. He is moving like a conductor above the waves. I am suddenly dizzy and join my son.
the captain leans
into the night
We are not talking as we stare out at the horizon. My son and I pray for the horn to blow twice and the big engines to turn over.
in buckets of air