The lighthouse stands unchanged,
but its foundation rocks are now deserted
of day-trippers,
tourists in their season:
photograph snapping,
with pet dogs yapping.
Even the gulls have abandoned the rock
for more productive leavings
at Hubbards,
or Sambro Head.
Summer fogs too, are gone,
and the low pressure system
centred over Hatteras
may soon bring a nor’easter
to scrub the rock clean
with rejuvenating rain.
The cocktail party in Boston
occasions remarks:
“How quaint! Isn’t it darling!”
“Such a find, you know.”
The painting (one of hundreds like it)
graces the room,
yet remains apart from it,
as does the lobster trap
on the flagstone patio.
The nor’easter arrives
and cleans.
And will again.
