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,
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.
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