Pensacola 1960

Three hooligans we were, my brothers and I
but how we loved Florida in the summer.
Our cottage, for the next month;
crashed open the doors and startled
blue crabs, scuttling along the baseboard,
thinking they'd escape into the bathroom.
caught a dozen or so - watched them turn red
in my mom's boiler - blue flames underneath.

The beach was our kingdom encircling a moat,
the daily haunt for a gang of three;
the fishing pier our special hangout
with old Moses teaching us tricks:
chicken necks to tempt the crabs;
a juicy sheepshead cut in half
dripping off the pier into the bay
to draw the snappers closer in.

One late day the heat got the better of us,
we ran past Moses's bait strings
to the end of the pier;
deep water is the coolest,
but my brother grabbed my arm
(I was always the first to leap)
and held me from that cold bath.

Swinging my fist in frustration
I stopped in mid pummel -
his face was not laughing at me,
but staring out to the water.
"Look" was all he said,
that was all any of us said
for at least the next five minutes.

There, the sun set rays turned the water
greener than algae, shadows played
on a beast, torpedo headed,
fin cutting the water surface
gliding smoothly, silently,
brown body turning to gold
and back to brown in the sunlight,
fins barely moving it as it soared
up to the platform inches
from where we stood, cutting
through the spot I had aimed myself;
serene in its majestic terror
eyes unseen below the surface;
then it turned like a cat back on its path
the impossibly long tail continuing on
even while the body swept past it,
"thresher" I thought, in love
with the force of nature before me,
bejeweled in the light of dusk.

There has never been any memory
as vivid and long lasting as that single
moment when nature held up her work
and all I could do was worship.