You’re sitting, legs askew
On the deck of a boat.
Is it the bobbing water beneath your gunnel
That is making your cling
With hands, skirt, lips,
That slightly forced smile?
And your feet,
Jammed into tight, white, backless sandals,
Like the cigarette jammed between your fingers,
Portray a woman unsure, unseen,
Grasping desperately,
Longing for dry land.
Vessel of a man?
Capture of a portrait?
A place to belong?
Not in this same boat…
Its unsettled sway finding its way
Into your knees, hips…
And the coat flung aside
Between you and the cabin below;
You’re jamming it down
With an angry heel,
Achilles fighting against the prevailing wind.