Fisherman

by

Margaret Cracknell

---

In flip-flops and halter tops,
Short pants and long pants,
Sraw-hatted, the tourists
Stream past all day.
They hang over the sea wall
And chat to the fishermen,
Clicking their cameras,
Always their cameras
Are clicking away.
The Portuguese fishermen
Know tourists mean money,
They smile and oblige,
But don't have a lot to say.
They keep working,
Baiting their fish hooks,
Each with a morsel of fish
To tempt bigger fish and the squid,
That hide in the pots of clay.
For before night falls
They must be out on the water.
While the sky is still red
They'll be on their way.
May the Eye of God, painted
On the prow of each vessel,
Keep them safe from all peril,
Till the sun rises
On a bountiful catch the next day.

---