At Anchor

At Anchor


From the hilltop I can see the townscape,
a maze of roof tiles rust red in the sun,
a tank ship has anchored in the bay that is
blue with glitter on. I can see people on her
deck looking towards shore; and they have
dreams they do not share with fellow sailors.

If they get a chance to go ashore they will
find bodegas that serve good red wine and
stronger stuff as well, food is wholesome
and generously served. But they’ll not find
what they came for, windows are shuttered
and no home light illuminates their path.