No pilot
The ships in the bay of Cascais
Are waiting for a pilot to take them to port.
They have been there long
A strike by the dock workers take time
In the meantime, the seamen do a little work
Painting here and there but mostly
Sitting in the sun getting a tan.
The cook is worried he needs a supply of food
No more vegetable left except the canned stuff.
He has frozen meat, but not enough of it
Should the strike last.
He sighs and drinks another coffee
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem