Trade
winds
fill the
sloop's mainsail
northeasterly of
Hadley's cell, ship slicing glassy,
serene, water…moving towards seven sea sunsets
where cyan green flashes promise
Nantucket's children
Cutty Sark futures
though lost
and
gone.
Now
sold
online
for sailor
wannabes, cabin
boys & girls, stowaways, adorned
in a milieu of Pequod memorabilia
dream about naval hierarchy
fast track advancement
tying knots
swabbing
decks—
wet.
Wide
eyes
open
ferreting
out Jonahs onboard
whose passage portends misfortune
incites nature's wrath—whistles up storms, sails into bad
luck Thursday squalls that leave egg shells
uncrushed—calcium
sea witch homes—
quartz like
life
boats.
