On The Shore Doug Tanoury At the Mariner's Hospital The nurses would Set old sailors in wooden Wheelchairs right at the water's edge. I'd see them in the afternoon Wearing pajamas or robes And on summer mornings With blankets draped across their shoulders. Some looked out over the lake Others stared down at their feet, A few slept stretched out in the sun Like driftwood on the shore, and only The steam whistles of freighters Navigating the narrow channel Would rouse them.