OLD JOE

Old Joe

The tiniest tug of the Thomas Bay fleet
tarried not as it tethered the barge.
Old Joe was his name
- full of spirit and game -
never thought his great load was too large.

While the rest of the fleet had made port long ago,
and was safe and secure at the dock,
Joe had planned to arrive by a quarter of five,
but the storm hadn’t followed the clock.

The sea had been calm for two days and one half,
while the nights were a starry delight.
But the Nor’easter wind brought a Tempest to play,
and instead they had started to fight.

Old Joe had tugged time and again through the years.
He had seen stormy days without end.
The Nor’easter wind was his mate since year one.
Each considered the other his friend.

So, he paid no attention to swells as they grew,
nor to seas as they broke or’ his bow.
He had always come home, though the seas had been rough.
He wasn’t about to change now.

Only five miles out, the load shifted with force.
The tether had snapped and gave way.
Loyal as a scout, Old Joe came about,
pushing the barge toward the bay.

Twenty feet were the seas, and the lights on the shore
gave no beacon to lead his way home.
Through a blanket of fog he pushed on, then at once,
the barge capsized and sank in the foam.

The Tempest – she screamed! She was “hell bent