The Boat

The boat sits.
It's white fiberglass hull,
bright in the sunlight,
like a whale,
dead and bleached opon the shore.

A single red stripe,
wraps around,
like a faded ribbon,
on a forgotten present.

Inside open to the sky,
Carpet once blue now faded grey,
Upholstry once crisp now faded,
eaten by time and critters.

A new chrome wrench lies there,
the deck ports open.
Parts and nuts, wires and grease.
The battery charged yet the cable connectors corroded.
An impotent key left with intent in the ignition.

But the hull is clean and white,
shining in the sun,
glowing with promise,
of what will be.