That was sausage day
on our farm outside Dungog.
There's my father Reinhard Boettcher,
my mother Agnes.There is brother Frank
who died of the brain-burn, meningitis.
There I am having my turn
at the mincer. Cooked meat with parsley and salt
winding out, smooth as gruel, for the weisswurst.

Here's me riding bareback in the sweater
I wore to sea first.
I never learned the old top ropes,
I was always in steam. Less capstan, less climbing,
more re-stowing cargo.Which could be hard and slow
as farming - but to say Why this is Valparaiso!
Or: I'm in Singapore and know my way about
takes a long time to get stale.
...