whalewatching

Dark, lissome shapes

roil the surface

’cross the sound,

plying

shipwakes

with ease

off the bow

 

A call goes out

aboard the ferry—

“Starboard prow,

three o’ clock!

Two pods,

heading south.”

 

Patrons, hushed,

crowd the wales,

pointing and

gasping—

“Oooh” and

“Aaaaah”

and “Woooow”—

cameras whirring

all the while

 

The shapes slip under

and

over the waves,

a rhythmic

arching—

a fluid,

facile grace

 

Dorsal fins

held high

Their obsidian

edge

cutting whitecaps:

One big slice,

(could that be Mama?),

followed by

another, smaller,

and

yet another, smaller

still—

the family returned

home from

fishing,

perhaps?

 

A glimpse of barreled

body, pied

black and white,

domed

forehead, with spots

for eyes

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