A Mother Waits, a poem by Don Flecknoe at Spillwords.com

A Mother Waits

written by: Don Flecknoe

‘Thomas, now your father’s passed
Your mother needs your help
At twelve years old, and some more
It’s time for you to work.’

‘There’s a trawler ‘Stellar’ in the Bay
I Know her Captain ‘Lew’
He needs a trusty deckhand
And I’ve recommended you.’

***

Stellar had been a sturdy craft
Once the pride of any fleet
But time and neglect had come
To test her forty feet.

An aging leaky timber hull
An engine out of date
Seaworthiness depleted now
A storm could seal her fate.

***

The time of year the mackerel run
No time to waste and all
The boats go out rain or shine
And limp home with their haul.

A forecast of bad weather
Time to question, sail or no
Time to weigh the risk ahead
Brave skippers set to go.

Many trawlers prepare to sail
A few remain behind
But Stellar’s skipper needs the haul
There’s a mackerel school to find.

So sail he must and take the risk,
‘Sellar’s sure to ride the squall
With two good men and Tom for sure
We’ll bring home a weighty haul.’

***

A leaden sky and rising wind
The ebb tide’s running fast
‘Tom, you need to look alive,’
Says the skipper, ‘Now cast.’

They cleared the southern headland
Out in the open sea
To chase that teaming mackerel school
Where-ever it might be.

The hours slowly roll on
No elusive Mackerel school
The crew all think of Kingdom come
Knowing nature rules.

In breaking waves, the deck awash
Bilge water’s rising fast
With aching limbs Tom’s at the pump
He’s praying she will last.

***

The sun climbs over the horizon
And sets fire to the sea.
Wives of fishermen wait on the dock
As trawlers cross the bay.

One by one the boats limp in
Laden with their haul
A cheer and laughter from the dock
Eighteen sturdy boats in all.

Tom’s mother’s there to see her boy
Come home like all the rest
In Stellar with a mighty catch,
‘It’s sure to be the best.’

The morning’s gone, it’s after twelve
Yet Stellar fails to show
No flairs no ‘Pan’ nor Mayday call
Heard on the radio.

***

All the trawlers are tied up now
All wives and men long gone
Except a mother waiting still
For her only boy, Tom

There on the dock she sat alone
That night at ten past one
Then heard a sound she knew so well
A thumping like a drum.

The sound of Stellar’s old engine
A mother wept with joy
That sound came ringing through the night
As she waited for her boy.

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Don Flecknoe

I have been a member of the Poets and Writers on the Tweed for over five years and have been writing for pleasure for over fifteen years. I am a retired architect, 83 years old. In my career I have been required to write detailed submissions to governmental departments and councils.