The Wreck of The Betty

It was a dark and stormy night,
late October on the island,
we were snuggled in safe and sound
and rode out the weather, mostly,
in our dreams.

But further up island,
someone’s hatches slipped their battens,
and just that quick,
a boat was no longer afloat.

Word spreads quickly on the Vineyard.
By the time the first cup of Art Cliff coffee was poured,
everyone was talking about the shipwreck.
Since I had made Lobsterville a daily destination that season,
I was early on the scene.

Now, it wasn’t really that big of a blow,
and it didn’t look like much of a wreck,
a string of wooden shards along the tideline,
and for sure a decent list,
but most of the damage was below the water’s surface.
So she looked ok, just sorta worse for drink…or the drink.

I was glad because I abhor a voyeur,
and because someone’s livelihood is on the line with every hard working inch of those vessels…
but the reason I painted it was because of that good old Yankee spirit.

When life throws your boat on shore…
it just means you have firmer ground
from which to cast.