A Fishing Boat in Long Beach Island

What memories I have with you, Abba, for I walked along the side of the boat next to the rods with excitement looking at the vast ocean.
In my crazy eagerness, and getting the bait, I went onto the rusty old fishing boat, dreaming of your tackle box!
What catches and what snags! Whole famillies fishing in the ocean! The pontoon full of men smoking! Women sitting in the shade, sons and daughters in the bait!--and you, Mom, what were you doing down by the engine?

I saw you, Abba, bald, hilarious old Israeli, digging through the bait in the bucket and cracking a pointless joke.
I heard you making comments about each: i accept your apologize. Almost dead, that is like almost blackjack! Are you a pet doctor, a veteranalien?
I weaved through the foul-smelling tackle boxes and coolers following you, and followed in my imagination with Cody.
We stood together in our calm relaxation dropping our lines, waiting to catch flounders, and never washing our hands.
Where are we drifting to, Abba? The moon will be coming up shortly. Which way do the waves move tonight?
(I pick up your fishing rod and remember your hilarious lines.)
Will we fish all night in the infinite ocean? The seagulls appear from time to time, the moon lighting the sea, we'll both be joyful.

Will we stand fishing reminiscing about the fun memories past other boats in the ocean, home to other famililes sharing our experience?
Ah, dear father, "born in a shack", crazy old loving man, what fish did you catch when you dipped your rod into the salty water and watched the bait disappear in the blue waters of the Atlantic?

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