Wishful land captains

The world is at best fleetingly ship shape

burdened with orders to bow to the stern

we are lectured that any port in a storm will suffice

but perpetual turbulence keeps most of us in dry dock servitude

wishful land captains

afraid, our personal cargo dry but with a longing for more

something greater than shouting ahoy to the flotsam and jetsam of the coastline

so rather than take to water, we don a variety of lifejackets

be they a weapon, bad love, contraband, poverty of the mind, excess in all its capacities, portholes as peep holes, even three coins in the fountain

anything to provide distraction during our inevitable personal capsizings

the miracle is a few choose paddling towards freedom’s siren, even to death, rather than remain fretting, paralyzed and alone

— inspired by a poetry writing class nautical prompt