About the Tale
Of an Old Bay
Fisherman

Have you ever gone
   someplace near the Bay
      and tried sitting by a grumpy,
         whiskered,
            whiskey-nosed,
               lispy lipping leper
            of an old, reddened,
       sunbaked,
         waveslapped,
            windsogged,
               thick-skinned fisherman
         from those windjamming days
            amid the odorous
      decaying deadfish, seafresh air
   listening to the tales
      of crab grabbing, oyster hoist-raking days
               with gazing agape,
                  with mesmeric awe ---
         thunderstruck by his filthy
                weather-worn,
                  yellow-stemmed,
         fierce-looking face-carved,
                  blackened white
               meerschaum pipe
   clenched between his tobacco-stained,
      shellcracked,
         rope-battened teeth ---
            shucking bluefins and
                  occasional oysters
               with rapid sleight
         of water-thickened,
      short-stumped,
   fat-fingered,
bare hands?

No, I wouldn't have ---
   I wouldn't be able to lipread him.

--- Curtis Robbins
From The Deaf Way II Anthology
©2002, Gallaudet University Press