"Let Down Your Nets"

"We've worked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But, because you say so,  I will let down the nets".  Tears flow on the stern.   The body goes through the motions; food is tasteless. Where is HE when I speak?  Men grind upon the open sea, rocking and rolling as their heads do.  Pour another tumbler.   "We must sail, sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, but sail we must and never lay at anchor".  Another line from the notes; another one to get you through.  Put another pot on, make it grinder this time.  Stomach in knots.  A rusty knife through the heart, carving it out and feeding it to the fish.  Stuck on this delta, this grey beast.  "Where did he go"?  "Find the whale boys"!  Another one stuck in the net, another problem.  Somali cannery workers rock their bodies to the east.  Moldy pudding. Dirty showers.  Smells like slime, blood fish slime.  Nowhere to go; like a chained dog to these waters.  A slow trickle, fish here, fish there.  No fish, just a deck of logs and kelp. It's never good enough.  Skips marry into wealth.  Can I get a draw Sir?   Twenty bucks - enough for a coffee,  The industry will die.  How about Northern Ireland?  Or the Japs?  Where are there Junks now?  Bumper stickers on boats - "NO OBAMA 2012".   "FISHERMEN FEED THE WORLD".  The heart pumps for hers, yet it bleeds dry salt.  Head is heavy; we can't end this way.  For God's sake men, take heed and dig deep; fight for the hearts and minds of people, fight for the justice!  What would the Founders do?  How have we become so fat?  Another jumper; one, two, there's another for three!  Maybe we'll get a big set this time, a four bagger.  "Pull boys! Pull"!   Red marker, blue, red, here it comes.   Nothing again, they scream aloud, "God Fucking Dammit"!  Another jelly in the eye - it burns hot, as though a match struck into the eye.  Sorry, Father, for they know not what they do.  Please forgive us. Break bread, pray to Jesus.  So many worlds, so many places, a world away from worlds.  Tears have dried, throat is soar.  She answered, finally.  The road continues - bridges can be rebuilt, pour 'em another light one.  One, two, head is heavy, time to get up.  Anchor bangs the bow - 3:30 AM.  Coffee breath and smoke, an American prose.  Oh, Phillip, why have you gone?  You just write, man, write and write until death.  The wind roars, chop is up, everyone is in the bunks.  The Dutch had fleets of men, rations of dried fish.  One shot of the fire water and some bread, and a lime to keep the scurvy away. The old world, the new.  "Give me some of those candy bars"!  Onto Kasaan.  Where did the run go?  Salmon come with power - two thousand pounds over the thighs.  Slime in the face; it burns.  We rock and roll; the Ocean commands authority.  No bath, no girl.  Another evening in Southeast.  The colors fly high, ripped and frayed.  Let's get Congress out here.  Have them smell the smell of their dirty panties!  America, where is it?  What would the Fathers have done, chopped a cherry tree?   They knew their sweat.   She laughs now, her sweet, sweet laugh, her small feet.  A sweet disposition. Another walk upon the tar-soaked docks.  Lights burn and flicker; a lonely life.  Olympics finish in London.  Royal buc-teeth and big ears.  Stars and Stripes take the cake.  Rain again.  Pork chops on the grill and they call this a Tradition....It's time to come home.