THE SHIPS ARE EXILED

It is almost that Thursday
November 26
and the ships are exiled
with this poet chaired
to a rock in Plymouth
near the Mayflower air
transfixed in a home harbor
with the lone love letter
in an open sax's hand
by a percolating coffee
under a Pilgrim poster
between whale sightings
reciting a Melville poem
from the open portholes
and offering thanksgiving
to anyone hungry at table
this morning and nightfall.