The Ferry Man
 

The ferry man stands with a red neon wand in his hand and guides the cars to lane 5
lane 8
lane 4
with a flick of a wrist and eyes cast down.
His ball cap holds down limp hair that touches his shoulders
lane 6
lane 15
He squints to the sun and has a slight hunch inherited when a deep breath of dreams, grander than pointing neon batons, is deflated
The stare of the ferry man, is the same at every port of call
lane 5
lane 5
Island eyes flicker for seconds, never to meet those of the hurried commuters
or the excited travelers
boats on racks, trucks on wheels, babies in the back, dogs on leashes, ladies with purses, kids with candy
lane 10
lane 12
Small houses of people spill out of the cars and dash to the deck
to unfold like card tables
lane 12
lane 3
changing diapers, eating hot dogs
feet up on the seat to read a book
wait here
wait here
All the while the ferry man stands ashore
grumbling something to the man in the car “ This next ferry is sold out.” he points to another lane.
hand holding new lovers and old hands, all hands on deck to see the sky
I look out standing on at the helm through the fresh wind whipping unruly hair in my eyes
I see the ocean flat and still as we slice through leaving discarded pathways in our wake
I am going somewhere, I know where I am going, and who I am going with
calm decisiveness has pushed and nudged my stubborn feet to join in with love
I take my place at my love’s side, lane 5 will do, I bow my head and wait for the signal
Snooping and scoping, exploring the steps up and steps  down of the giant white cruiser
My heart pounds because he is the one
lane 5
lane 5
wait here.
He blinks
I stare

 

 

© 2017 Amelia Fleetwood.  Ojai, California 

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