The Retro Village Coffeehouse was muted tonight. Although the usual clientele were present, the decibel level of the background conversation, which often was more than a tad acrimonious, tonight was subdued. It could, perhaps, have been due in part to the fact that the Folksinger had left the stage for a break and, in her absence, had put on a CD of Jane Siberry singing the traditional “The Water is Wide.” Siberry’s voice was, as usual, thought-provoking, but her treatment of the song enhanced the inherent melancholy to the point where the Coffeehouse habitués were almost spellbound by the song’s bittersweet refrain.The Resident Radical carried through the boat image, and was thoughtfully haranguing the Capitalist Establishment for using the proletariat as gallery slaves to power the ship of state. The English Literature major thought that, as a traditional work of poetry, the words of Siberry’s piece were sadly simplistic.
The Older Bald Guy sipped a cup of black Guatemala Antiqua, flavoured solely by one spoon of demerara sugar and a shake of cinnamon. On the battered steno pad upon which his pen rested, he had jotted down some thoughts based on the boat analogy.
As a Sail on the Horizon
The boy looked out to sea:
past scrub spruce on rocky tors,
his gaze skipped over gravel shingle
whispering an ageless sough to the sea.
There! Across the reach,
beyond the island!
The tiny sail touching the horizon
would stay with the boy for hours,
traversing his lilliputian world.
Later, as an economic refugee
"going down the road,"
the boy was reminded of the sail
as he watched through the night
on the "Maritime Express."
Small pools of light would appear
in the Stygian darkness
of a New Brunswick night:
promises of comfort and home.
On the horizon of my life
I have seen many sails.
Some have docked, sojourned,
become part of my life for a time.
Others passed, unknown,
into the vortex of Time.
I only wish, at this late date,
that I had tried harder,
made more effort,
to make the journeys of others
as joyous as my own.
