O, floating meeting place where fog and light
Cars and water
Tourists and locals
Meet, remind me what to do on the island.
Improvising, we didn't come up with a plan.
The gulls shriek,
The cameras click,
We left the car half-parked on the Falmouth sidewalk.
On the ramp it's silent for a second when the
Trucks, rumbling and
Trailers, teetering and
Engines, grunting disappear down the town's streets.
On the ramp it's silent for a second, but I
Feel it.
Then the ferry floods with orange-vest workers,
Then the island is washed in the sun.
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