Lobsterman’s Sonnet

Lobsterman pulls and baits traps, straining now;

Swerves to miss the lobster pots, yellow, green.

He’s worked these boats, since when he was thirteen.

His Dad, Granddad and brothers showed him how.

He wipes his face with one more stinky shred

Of his Van Halen shirt,  one he’d thought lost.

The store sells rags; he can’t afford the cost.

He puts his Red Sox hat back on his head.

He loves his boat, his gear, he loves his traps;

Hates he’s out to sea the whole damn day.

The kids, his wife know that he cannot stay

At home ’til winter, snow and all that crap.

For now he loves the ocean.  As he steers

Out past the cove, the seagulls fill his ears.

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3 responses to “Lobsterman’s Sonnet

  1. You’re so good at tributes!
    Do you know a lobsterman or two?
    Is this culture in your family too?
    I thnk of Maine and I think of all the wonderful sterotypic things I see and hear. One of my fave shows was Murder She Wrote and it taking place in some small, small, Maine town. I loved the culture, its one of my fave things to observe about people and places. And you just took me on a lobesterman’s boat. In Maine!

    Thank you!!

    • I’m so glad you got that feeling — that was what I was trying to convey. My grandfather had a few traps, and I got to help with them when I was 10. But the most exposure I’ve had to lobster fishermen is at the hardware store. These boat get so beaten up, the have to be close to rebuilt before the season every year!

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