Like badges of honor--
Not drowning, not sinking, not disintegrating entirely
Is a cause for pride--
Their broken backs and cracked or missing ribs
Are bared to the bleaching sun
For all to see and imagine
What truth they will
Of what broke them down.
Corpses of dinghies and dorries--
Call them what you want--
Litter this marina.
The message of their brokenness
Is I believe this:
Fight the tide, and you will die.
Die fighting, and we will not bury you.
If you can't handle this cove,
This safe little place off the not very dangerous Sound,
We will make of you an objet d'art.
We will decorate our lives with your defeat.
We will sit alongside you, drink beer, tan our bodies,
And perhaps lean against you as we turn our faces to the sun.