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Poem: Block Island 


Leslie's in the labyrinth,

the ferry's at the dock

nesting gulls at Settler's Rock

harbormaster, keeping clock.


the light, air, blue-green surf and smell were,

just as hoped, relaxing;

the disembarking goobers'

eavesdropped conversations, taxing.


Moni Shea remembers clearly

Nazi periscopes aspying,

Navy eminent domainers,

and the locals noncomplying.


Skippy's walker's tennis balls

lend purchase, sand or stone,

and leave her gallant young enabler's

parents' minds a little blown.


the seaglass shopkeep wakes the beach

at dawn to sally forth,

the Nibbles server meditates,

calming midnight lighthouse north.


with great machines of iron

stacking back breakwaters he

intends to thus defend the bay,

to keep at bay the wild, wild Sea.


And I, with all these goings on

around me, scarcely need

to crack Capital in the 21st Century,

my (scarcely) planned vacation read.

  • A poem by Mark Vian.

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