Quake

Walking out toward Pigeon Island

I pass men fishing from the rocks

with breaded hooks and baited looks

returning smile for knowing smile.

Suddenly I'm caught -- for a moment poised 

between an earthquake and a noise 

which groans from faults that lie below

and pound as ground grinds ground.

Excitedly the seagulls flock

to scraps of fish left on the rocks:

the sky is full of stink and cry

as squall carries squall and sewage.

Beneath the skin, his scent, a sigh:

My smile returns his knowing smile.