I’ve never been to Nantucket
In the ocean off Southern New England
Home port of Captain Ahab
And the Nineteenth Century whalers.

My roots are nearby on the mainland
In the old fishing port of New Bedford
And the nearby places with Indian names
Like Mattapoisett, Merrimack, and Penobscot.

I’ve walked the sandy, windy, scrub-covered shores
Of Plum Island and Cape Cod
And played on the blue collar wharves of Fairhaven
That look out toward Nantucket.

But Nantucket? No,
I never stepped off the ferry,
Walked the Main Street cobblestones,
Or felt the evening sun set toward Long Island.

And yet I see it every day
From a windowless second floor office
In a Los Angeles industrial park
Through monitors, wires and fiber and routers

Through a camera on Main Street
I watch the weather change; the people come and go
And the street lights come on as darkness falls
While there is still light here.

It’s only a small window
That can be closed in an instant
When any bosses come around,
Expecting that I’m totally engaged.

@ 2009           F X Kearns