Monday, June 01, 2015


lights ‘f portland harbor,
th’smell ‘f paper mills – the sea breeze
takes it th’other way


tide’s out, schoodic point
th’clam digger, hands deep in th’muck,
sore back, easy smile

up th’coast t’bar harbor,
hoping t’feel th’cool ocean breeze,
but’t won’t stop raining

th’dock, th’sunset, ‘n’ th’woods – th’island’s gulls
seem t’criticize it

maine trucker, home f'r fourth -
grinding gears through town, needs t'share
the taste of moxie

got th’moxie ‘n’ sparklers
way down east, feels like he got
‘s far away ‘s he could

butt’ry ‘n’ delicious –
what he heard, ‘n’ thought th’bath lifeguard
‘s talking ‘bout th’lobster

th’whiskey jack, th’songbird
great bacon thief ‘f th’ vast maine woods –
campers have t’go t’town

campers in th’maine woods –
surprised th’whiskey jack, th’songbird
would steal their bacon

th’way he says “bangor” –
young kid at th’farmer’s market
been here all his life

kenn’bunkport waitress –
th’way they say ‘lobster,’ how well
they tip, ‘r’ unr’lated

from th’other portland,
th’couple finds it hard t’make friends –
warm day, cold ocean

th’cold sea ‘t bar harbor
th’tourists feel th’pretty village
‘s some kind ‘f protection

acadia hiker,
stops to fish and swim, halfway
halifax t'd.c.

rests th’pack on th’bath sign,
ocean breeze, torn off hunk ‘f bread –
he has what he needs

th'way she says "lobster,"
bath lifeguard knows where she's from,
in this case, out west

rockland t’wiscasset,
truckbed ‘f crates ‘n’ painted buoys –
he calls her th’lobst’rman

she’s married t’th’ocean
currents – he paints th’buoys, ‘n’ she
takes him t’th’lobster fest

“messy ‘n’ delicious,”
on one, th’ocean breeze ‘n her hair –
“so always wear th’bib”


grew up in th’midwest,
likes th’life ‘f th’rockport lobsterman
‘n’ th’ocean spray ‘n her hair

last tourists have gone -
leaves litter bar harbor streets,
sea breeze brings a chill

from katahdin, south,
he’ll follow th’peak of th’colors
‘til th’first snows catch him

gives me demaupassant –
we’re ‘n baxter, ‘n’ i’ll see his friend
long before he does

monson's fifty miles,
fallen leaves cover the trail -
moose watches from bush

still days from monson,
th’moose, half drunk on apples, not
inclined t’move either

six shades of orange -
bricks, leaves, sunrise reflection,
banks 'f th'androscoggin

banks ‘f th’androscoggin
th’leaves’ are turning, th’fish’re hungry,
they, too, fear th’deep freeze

house against th’vast woods –
they don’t know ‘bout th’senate race,
they know th’androscoggin

aroostok woodsman
understands apple-drunk moose
but not clearcutters

frost, brick streets ‘f saco
never thought ‘f th’kind ‘f odor
th’shoe fact’ry would have

twelve steps into maine -
crunch of leaves fills woods for miles,
winter's silence looms

path to katahdin-
last leaves fallen, pack weightless
breath vapor vanished

an aroostok moose
eats apples this time of year
gets drunk and surly

drunk aroostok moose –
not clear on why you’d want t’hike
in his patch of woods

victorian lit
on th’hiker’s mind – th’drunken moose
protective ‘f baxter

close to katahdin,
through-hiker, basho in hand,
envisions fuji

single road snakes up
into quebec - monson store
closes for saints' day

th’wood stove’s crackling fades
with th’saint john’s valley folk song,
sturdy boots, wood floor

sturdy boots, wood floor,
th’harsh winter ‘f saint john valley
th’voices’re th’instruments

‘n th’saint john valley th’boots
take th’long path through th’snow t’ th’cabin
then stomp th’beat ‘f th’french songs

bitter nor’easter
small shops ‘f bar harbor, closed tight,
th’locals dug in ‘t home

pond near waterford
whole weekend playing hockey,
wood fire ‘n’ cocoa ‘t night

warm pizza, old bug
icy saco road driveway,
vacationland tags

hockey on thin ice
some danger ‘n th’maine winter, but
least it’s not th’ocean

train station feeling -
in saco, downeaster,
bitter front stall out

frozen gravel pokes
tired feet, a salt-lined pack leans
on bath exit sign

'roostok cabin fire
's burned the same wood for eight months
no dent in the pile

blue sky, red brick streets –
all th’old mill towns along four
th’trees’re starting to bud


may ‘n pumpkin island
jump from th’rocks into th’sea, then
lunch ‘t thread ‘f life channel

‘kitt’ry t’caribou’
she points out th’roadside lupines,
little wild, like her

woke up one june night,
small french town, st. john valley,
still not sure 'twas real

quaint bar harbor porch –
even ‘n june, th’tourists need t’hide
from th’angry sea breeze

loves th’purple lupine
grew up ‘n th’maine woods, ‘n’ glad t’see
they too have come home


bath shipyard moment –
whole winter ‘f assembly,
ready f’r this summer launch

bath shipyard in june -
years to build and prepare it,
one day to embark


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