The Ripeness of Fruit
Now he is old and
only supervises dinner preparation,
but with the same authority that once
ordered burly men who work the big machinery
The grinding, roaring drone replaced
by the hum of the garbage disposal
and the hiss of simmering pots
After dinner we sit out on a balcony
that seems to float over a stretch of white sand,
and stare off across the water
at the winking lights from a far off ship
He points out turtle tracks in the sand,
where the turtles have come ashore to lay their eggs
“We keep the lights off after dark this time of year,” he explains
“Turtles find their way back to the sea by moonlight”
He recites this bit of information like one of the locals but,
He still wears white starched shirts, black pants and his shoes shine
Before I leave he tells me that he is lucky
to enjoy these “fruits of all his labor”
and quietly adds as an afterthought,
“I have had a full life.”
