Drydocks and Parades
The warm breezes of great heights
ran through fine
light hair
as I straddled
my father’s neck,
gripping tight to his collar
as veterans marched proudly by:
Ike’s years then.
Days of wonderful dizziness,
looking at
that parade of men below me:
a fearful pleasure—like now,
climbing kingposts
and stanchions
of eighty-thousand ton vessels
built with half-inch steel
and starplate from the keel up —
using cables, rivets, bolts,
torches, and welds.
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