ocean winds
rope burn lines across my hands
careworn deck warm on bare feet
shouts of gulls
shirt is stiff with salt and soaked with sweat
and
seven hungry gray cats wait for scraps
tails swing in studied unconcern
eyes narrowed like old market women
haggling over cost and quality
examining each purchase
and
Matilda my wife is home
hands covered in flour
rolling pin presses dough firmly-
(she said she'd bake a pie
for supper)
and
I am here
alone
with strange cats
only halfway
through with my work.