HANGIN’ AT THE YACHT CLUB

by Susan Campbell

The yacht club at Nawiliwili
rests on tall concrete posts.
Tall, so small tsunamis pass safely beneath.
Boats are the only requirement for members
sailboats, kayaks, occasionally a rich man’s toy.
Even then boats no’matta.
Tee shirts and slippers de riguer.

Piers jut into the water
walkways for boat owners
with gated access -
a heavy duty padlock
or slip-chain.

Old men with long poles
sit around fishing,
talking story,
drinking beer.
Occasionally one walks to water’s edge
to take a piss
confident no one watches,
not caring if they do.

The fish don’t seem to mind...
They leap and splash in the harbor
in open water
between boats.
Kittens carry on mock courtships on shore
or fight over scraps of food.

As the sun sets
and fog blankets the ridges
and evening breezes blow down from the hills
fishing gear is packed away
final beers are tipped back,
laughter escalates.
There are pidgen shouts of "Later!"
Bottles are tossed into truck beds.

And one by one
rusty pickups with grinding gears
are backed out of parking spots
and make their weaving way
from the harbor,
pointing their hoods toward home.