Harbor by Ray Greenblatt

It’s fashionable these days
to live by the water
so we put all our worth
into a condo.
It’s a delight to see
the harbor blue on sunny days
green now and then we imagine
but mostly a silty brown.
We lie on lounges
on our balcony
pretending to be on
the Positano Coast
smattering of green islets
perhaps a grotto or
fuming volcano beyond
always framed against
jagged mist-tinted mountains.
However, this area is Prohibition flat
while the howls of wolves in the hills
are the drunks disgorged from bars
kicking garbage cans or homeless mutts.
They say we’re lucky
to have rotting docks in front of us
as if they were a living history
but only phantom ships appear
in shadows or a glare of light.
Yet, we’re thrilled by a storm roaring in
and some nights the black sack of sky
rips open to spill a double
amount of stars into the harbor.