Midnight radio from Astoria plays funk

I’m thinking about storms far out at sea

at the cabin table as songs end

and the needle taps against the marina

my wife sleeps

over her shoulder fishing boats

move miles bobbing lights adjust to roar

walking in the morning we find a speedboat

smashed on the feldspar of Lost Boy Bay

a weekender’s aluminum toy

so may the dispatcher hear me

calling in the registration

I pause between each number

each letter