The Man in Port

I’m in port, dry dock, fixing the ship,
cleaning barnacles off my monocle
so I  can steer away from Poseidon,
toward the glinting horizon,
calling like sixteen vixen
sirens.

Once it’s fixed, I’m leaving this
sea town behind. The masts go up
and I sail out. Bleed with the breezes,
plead to Jesus, take me to the foreign
shore that is more like home
than home.

Haul this anchor on board and
join me in the thin salt air, with your
scarf hanging between your legs and
my jokes landing at your feet,
do you think we will make it to
Santorini?

Every crest and every valley, we’ll
stay planted on the wheel, spinning
it toward our destiny and the open sea.
I’m a sailor – you’re a mermaid and we’re
both make-believe.

Let’s shipwreck together.
Make love to the rocks.
Kiss every cruel tempest.
Drown in the bliss of
uncertainty.

The S.S. Happy Bones

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