Without a Quarter

The telescope is mounted firmly on the railing.
Solid. No storm is going to move it from it’s platform.

Across the bay, there are things worth the quarter
to see up close. A lighthouse. Flowering Trees. A trawler.

A ship, some sort of cargo barge, makes its way to Boston.
And your favorite, a wooden sailboat, reminding you of your past.

So much to see. And you, without a quarter,
Standing wishfully, half-blind, but still able to see

the beauty.

About this poem.

Lots swirling in my head as I wrote this one. About seeing. About seeing beauty when you can only see half of it, which is often the case. About being poor and how that affects what you can see for yourself. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture was taken at Cape Cod. Fortunately I did have quarter that day.

Tom