Treasure Island

John Courtney

(05-22-1982 / Philadelphia)

Searobin Cleaning 101


some were built like ships,
resilient marvels of buoyancy, tough as solitude
with bellies scraped along a converse globe,
an olive fog followed by a pair of eyes,
a pair of ears knowing every song the gulls could sing,

they would sail forever,
but for our law that shuts them off,
sinking flags in sad procession,
they rot along a jaw of shoreline,
warriors of life honored by the rust of time,

those ships become a pair of hands,
de-boarding spirits in a puzzled breeze,
they push strollers into swings,
and count years by skipping rope,
candles hissed into every kitchen wallpaper,
teaching:

fresh adventure
on a bicycle's frame
cannot return

most will
vanish in waves

fish
around ships
who dig alone

Submitted: Tuesday, May 07, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, May 08, 2013
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