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BELOW THE SALT This night is strange like the night when Donnie the Townie found a dead body by the channel buoy at the mouth of the river chop. Across the river in the Colony Hotel guests danced unknowing Donnie and his boat 3o feet below the sparkle of seacoast towns all the way down to Nubble Light. The guests were doing the watusi. The guests were piling up health for themselves. ft was quieter where Donnie was down there at low tide no headlights no cars tunneling into the dark like Kool Filter roos. They couldnt see him because of the hedges and because at night the breakwater drew a black line across their field of vision. They couldnt see him because that black line was a cummerbund and besides it was low tide. They couldnt see him because why would they be looking for him Below the black line was Donnie. The bottom half was sound not light waves slapping invisibly into the gurgle of his sea horse on idle his red throttle centered while Donnie scrambled to the gunwale and looked down. The woman who loved the man Donnie found met Donnie the next morning when they were both in the newspaper story. They were both rolled up together in the Kennebunk Star delivered by housekeeping with the breakfast muffins and the Colony embossed butter to the guests at the Colony Hotel. This night is strange but it is not the same night that Donnie the Townie found that guy. Walking outside I hear two people below the surf arguing. I turn on the big wooden radio connected to Rome London Havana Oslo Melbourne Madrid Springfield the old yellow light sucking in the dark Donnies dark slow boats and medium waves rolling in from these equivalent cities. 49