Stuck on the hard and watching the fresh breeze build from the Northwest I contemplate the daily fees I accrue as I wait for parts, paint to dry, and the endless teak I'll will sand and varnish only to have to start at the beginning again as I finish the last. I tell myself I will sail again. I will surf again. I will love a human again...but today and the days to come I am a prisoner. A prisoner of responsibility and choice. I will inhale the toxic dust and immerse my hands into poisonous thinners and cleaners. I will make myself into the size of a bilge rat and crank on bolts that have not moved in 30 years. I will love my boat. I am her cellmate, her bitch. I will grind her without protection......for my eyes because there is no room for glasses in the engine compartment...only room for my one hand and her shaft. For her freedom will be my freedom. I will toss her salad and spend all my commissary and give it to her. I will sing the boatyard blues and caress her keel and paint her bottom. I belong to her.
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