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.