jetty nights

it was an arm that stretched over the mud and sharks

from under the song of the swaying pines in the darkness,

the night water fondles the pylons

as mullet dance in the cold blackness afraid of nothing

we too, walk against our curfew

we see the eyes under the jetty,

phosphorescence and ectoplasm

under the death of the floorboards

looking up from the muddy grave

stealing a glance at the clear cover of stars

a fishing boat drones somewhere out there on the water

and in the distance a buoy flashes red lights and green

and you suddenly feel the loneliness out there

that’s where you can escape to

the smell of mashed potatoes and chops hang in the air

drags our attention back to the shoreline cottages

Ray Martin chatters somewhere in the glow of sixty watt lighting

we turn and face the clatter of dead wood

our lifeline home

and leave our jetty,

leave away the mystical squawks of curlew in the swamp

that eerie bleakness we came to love,

this innocence we behold

that we had nothing to fear but our parents’ scorn