We meet one last time
reluctantly, like castaways
not quite resigned to a diet of bugs
and scrawny seabirds.
I take an astrolabe out of my bag
and you dangle a sextant from your hand
as if it were the neck of a dodo.
We ignore our plates and order no drinks
though the room pitches and yaws in the gale.
I lift my peg leg right up onto the table.
It's made from a piece of my mast
that fell before your showy cannonade.
The yellow parrot I have engaged
is out to take you for all you're worth.
he argues elegantly in curse words and patois
while doing an inventory of every rolling doubloon.
"You Shanghaied me!" we accuse in unison,
pointing fingers like surgeons probing a wound.
Nice try, but I brought an extra eye patch just in case.
So here we are, sitting at Mike's Deserted Island Cafe,
gaunt, weak, half delirious, brandishing the tableware
and setting fire to our own grass huts, because
we are both angry, and gutshot, and flailing in the water,
shoving each other off the last floating barrel
still redolent of the wine we once shared with a smile.
Wowzers! What a tale this is, as only you can pen it. I was so drawn ibn by your opening stanza, unaware if the wild ride I was embarking on in stormy seas. The closing two stanzas reflect the sad endings of liaisons begun with such high hopes. I am late discovering this, as my blog roll doesnt alert me any longer when you have new posts, I have to go hunt......it is always worth it!
ReplyDeletelike how Pirates of the Caribbean should read, and not the coddled hollywood versions. ~
ReplyDeleteExcellent, of course. There's a pirate lurking in the heart of every person, no doubt. Survivors learn to be prepared!
ReplyDeleteA salty tale, as salt on wounds that still ache for healing. I know the feeling.
ReplyDelete