The Shrimper

Living several feet above sea level
          my father extracts life from the ocean
                      and feeds land-locked infants

Dragging his nets along a murky shoreline
          my father subtracts the stores of Neptune
                      and gives to the poor

          Before the eastern horizon is speared
          by gold and scarlet daggers
          While the moon still claims monarchy
          over the turbulent waters it bathes
                     my father is heading to Calliou Bay

Sliding through the muddy salt of Bayou du Large
          my father escapes the traps of land
                     and surrender to the sea

Skimming the white caps on the Gulf of Mexico
          my father breathes in the salt air
                     and swallow the sky

          The trawl dips under the dark water
          and with the flutter of wings the net opens
          With the shrimp glide blindlessly home
          lemmings of the ocean, soon prisoners
                     my father draws in his net

Hauling his load up through the bowels of his bayou
          my father sighs his benediction
                     and releases his guilt

Praying tomorrow's catch will surpass today's
          my father whispers pagan prayers
                     and unloads his doubt

          The evening sun will soon disappear
          below a blood soaked western sky
          Alone, the shrimper docks his boat
          Then, redeemed by the satin of his wife's thighs
                     my father sleeps without dreams