2007 (c)
The Stellar Bea, three fishing
vessels,
and two tugs—
hold the inlet in place.
Some days row boats
full of environmentalists
skim oil from the surface.
Container trucks idle—
loading or unloading,
I can’t tell.
I prefer the scent of grain
to coal.
From the slight North
lines
of yellow school buses pull out.
Three blocks on, they scatter
like a flower opening..
For
every bus number 24, 33 or 18
that passes,
five more read To Terminal.
From a distance, each one
offers sanctuary
from rain and exhaust.
Some days even crosstown
feels like going somewhere—
better than standing still.
