unABle

The crew of seamen all have a secret  loneliness

of their own. At every port the deserted dance

halls  beckon, and there they dance with ghosts

of  their lives. At midnight sharp the ghosts disappear

along with the tuxedoed band and the music dies to

leave  red white and blue tinsel, miniature plastic flags

and balloons that bounce and dance to a solitary prolonged

note.  The sailors stop spinning and their arms drop to their sides.They drown in bottles of rum in search of solace but rarely find barely a taste.  So in frustration they fight and draw first and last bloods. Now, in scuffed shoes, with torn clothes and damaged pride they stagger arm in arm back to ship. The water laps and licks its tongue like a cat at cream and the breeze whispers breath rings to the moon. Midshipman matron mother waits on deck with his rolling pin and he kicks backsides into cabins and bunks. The ship bobs and dips in rhythm to sailors chests and snoring, and there they sleep, open mouthed, hugging their pillows in desert island dreams

Reviews

[roarke]

A rich tapestry revealing a rich culture of myth and mystery, the sea and those that make it their only home... The picture has great detail, portraiture. I want to know more, what seamen, what ship, what desert island dreams. A treasure chest waiting to be dug up and plundered.