A Choice of Boats
“Take your pick.” says the man at the end of the pier.
There are three of them, Their brightwork sharp,
their hulls clear, ready for anyone with strong arms
and a willingness to use them.
The choice is easy. There is no choice.
Either will get you there.
You choose the last one, the one closest
to the sea, and begin.
About this poem
Often, and I can be as guilty of this as the next guy, we spend too much time fretting over decisions that mostly, don’t matter. It’s all good.
The picture was taken along the North Sea, in the Netherlands.