A New England Love Affair

What does she think?
I can't say,
the way she sinks into her seat
pulling at the edge
of an admiral's pea coat.
The way she blows
pink sugar into a balloon
after days of chewing
it like hide.
It eclipses her face
and pushes against the popped
collar of her lost admiral's
pea coat. Instinct tells me she's
missing. Her face in black and white
making the sides of milk cartons
more interesting. Like a lighthouse
off shores too rocky to travel by foot.
She's gone missing to her eyes
despite every reflecting edge
she has come to hide behind.
Her keen eyes can see through
the awkward young girl
in the dirty sides of a skyscraper.
The wind blowing her prismatic hair,
she brings painted finger tips
to organize every tiny sailor
running from the storm.
"Man your stations men!
the storm will swallow us
unless you keep your heads!"
The captain would bark as
he dipped into the boat's cargo
of whiskey to calm his nerves.
He wipes his courage on the wet sleeves
of his pea coat.
Her yellow fingertip rubs the engrained
anchors typical of her coastal style.
Turning to the lonely girl adrift in an oversized
Pea coat she salutes.
"Man your station."