Thursday, April 02, 2015

44. barnacles and rust

Growing older:
sidelined, agedefined,
barnacle and rust lined.
Tide mark long-since dried
with only lapping memories
of the embrace of the sea
or the occasional storm surge
reminder of the freedom
of flying.

Someone put you here,
dragged you into a new reality
for which you were not designed.
You should have gone down
with the captain
battling a squall
or riding a tsunami
a planked surfer
wide eyed with passion.
But here you are,
windows cataracted
with cobwebs,
timbers dried
(and only shivered by the wind),
making shadow on the bank
instead of bright reflections.

Now you eat the salty wind,
and taste the ridicule of gulls.
Now your new coat is of droppings
and detritus
as you wait
the funeral pyre
of other vandals.

But I liked you,
I enjoyed you enough
to point a camera on a grey day.
I gave some thought
to where you might have been
and felt sad for where you are now.

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