By: Mike Rainnie

Watching fishing vessels from my office window
Gliding offshore on the outgoing tide
Takes me back to my work as a fisherman,
Heading out in the pre-dawn dark.
Throbbing diesel underfoot—our faces in the wheelhouse 
Lit by the gentle glow of radar and GPS screens,
Savoring coffee from styrofoam, warm in our cupped hands
And muted conversation about grandchildren, 
Our plans for the day, fish prices, and weather.
A grinding seventeen, eighteen hour day awaits 
Reeling three hundred feet of wire line again and again,
Muscles strained and aching, back screaming,
Legs and feet stiff and tormented.
But the hour or two before the work, 
Heading through the Sound, red and green lights flashing in the pitch black
In the dark velvet hum of diesel 
Is the memory my mind clings to,
After all these years, comfort and peace.
After all these years.