Coast Watch
The coast watch. Walks the cliff on the worst nights — which is rather the point of him.
I walk the quay with the lantern when everyone else is in. Someone has to be the one who's awake. You won't notice me on a calm night — that's the night I'm proudest of.
The people out there in the dark. The light kept burning, the quay walked, the warning given before it's needed — never the credit for it.
Calm, steady, understated — the reassurance of someone already watching.
Go on in — I've got the quay.
You won't see me on a calm night. That's the point.
The light's lit. It stays lit.
Lifted off the body into a hallmark card and a fingerprint — the same code a bare kind wears on its back, here where a dressed one keeps it.