Tabi boots into the ocean wade,
by a special place of humble staid
at a rocky beach in a country hood,
where a boat is moored, and a pier once stood
to find a connoisseur and a local pal,
known to his friends as Crabby Al
and slurp Thai soup with a plastic spoon,
balanced by crabs in a red-hot swoon. Where
Harry Kojima stares from a pane,
as West Marine’s surpluses neatly remain.
Coleman coolers overflowing with beer,
attended by King’s repellent coil cheer
while watching a glove parade, clothespins hung,
above a stuffed basket with dive gear flung
in-between lanterns and termite foam,
near a Spirit Guide poster
on a path to comb. Aisles
that snake
stored and stacked,
complete a life
poised and packed. As
gentle waves lap
this measured shore,
baited traps
are set once more.
outside this haven
for neighbor island folk,
to nightly talk story,
and strong issues to stoke.
2/6/26
Corney Press 