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Missed
An endless
slow freight train
blocked the walk
to the wharf
this morning
as two tugs
came to help
the other
turn the ship.
As I watched
nice blue jeans,
long blonde hair
jumped in front
of my view,
waving and
jumping, but
no one waved
from the ship.
And she turned
tears to me:
“My husband—
I missed him—
now he's gone
for six months.”
“I'm sorry,”
I wanted
to hold her.
posted 2004, July 14
New Orleans, Louisiana
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