Down To The Sea
I bolted cans of beer one after another,
a rickety bridge project spanning rivers
of shame that found the beckoning sea
(as all rivers must) my silent plunge a
cannonball, blind shot across the bow of a drifting
scow, bosun’s chair vantage hidden high
among luffing sails, crew to my captain,
Boswell to my Johnson, a thirsty Chinese
Brother full to the very brim, long hard pinch
to the bridge, sailors ward against Fear.
I’ve given it up for good, the sea. Tides
obey the moon in a keepsake tea cup.