Prow

Starkly present…listen to the sky

the resonating dark, so clear and poised, void as a disembarked hull

the provisions jostling in their barrels

the rolling deck the heaving timbers the bantering mates the muttering
bosun the roiling sea the shifting crates the creaking yaw the gybing wheel

the crushing prow

that thrusts its figurehead into the trade winds

[may your beauty guide us to fabled lands]

the crew randy under the jigger

rum for a plug

we don’t mind what hour our twenty-year old captain will prowl aft

the rollicking shanties echoed in the song of the gusty air

[may the uninterrogable deep be benign before you]

our octant logs the change in hemispheres

our watch is a lonesome hale

our wake a vanishing whisper

This poem will be published in an upcoming issue of Main Street Rag.

Andy Oram
March 1, 2021

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