Crab pots
Roadside
Dockside
Goin’ for a ride

Glass pane
Laying on
Bo lagoon
Ripples gone

Sun’s amiss
Behind pillows soft
High above
The city’s loft

Tides a-churn
It’s churn’s turn
Washing sloshing
‘neath burrowed ferns

One lone boarder
Floats across
From Bo to Stin
Sailing albatross

-Right here today on the Bo Bay