“life of cork”
Stick thru cork
Cork in hand.
Building a pot for the crabbin’ man.
Rope to stick…
Rope to trap.
De trap hold dem crabs as the man pull em back.
Sometimes a fish, sometimes some shell.
Some times a bunch of Marsh …
stuck in it’s “Wells”.
Time and Time…and time again.
Man pull trap…lookin’ for the “Jim’s”.
Cork floats fast.
Cork floats slow.
Cork float direction that the tide does go.
Some time up.
Some time down.
Sometime line so tight…
“Cork” almost drown.
Cork stare up as birds laugh overhead…
Birds laughing at the cork…
a’swinging in his bed.
But sometime the little bird want to rest his wing…
Cork now a dock for the weary little thing.
Many creek “road” traveled.
Cork moved to and fro.
Man put the cork where the crab may go.
Many bumps and bruises.
And a gator bite or two…
But “cork” keep doing what cork s’posed to do.
Sun beat down.
More wind and rain.
Winter come too…
Cork not the same.
Cork look old and weary.
“Face” now aged with time
Cork look like the crabbin’ man.
A’pullin on the line.
There are so many things that remind me of my daddy…and our times shared in the creek esp.
I have this old bouy…which daddy always told me is a fancy word for cork…that was attached to one of his pots.
First time I saw it as 9 pulled it from the water, and the face that had begun to take shape …I laughed …held it high…and yelled. “Wiiilllsonnnnn”…lol…you know…from the Tom Hanks movie…and Everytime after that I would search it out as we worked our way thru the string.
Daddy would laugh and shake his head at me talking to a cork head…but I could tell he found humor in it too.
“Wilson” disappeared once…and I was so sad.
Nature gave Wilson barnicles for teeth and pimples on his face…and sometimes long green sea weed hair…which I would scrape off with a knife so as not to weigh him down.
Curious markings…made by time.
A short time after daddy went to heaven I found Wilson