Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Shipping Container

I am a steel box,8 feet wide, a little more in height,
20 feet long, and often a lovely 40 feet song.
I am born to be used. Opened stuffed opened emptied.
Feeding your hunger till times deplete.
I carry all, I ferry all, sheltering in my womb
Your desires, dreams, and your stock exchange boom.
That cross checked shirt, your girl friends skirt,
Brenda's dolly, Peters Polly, Shankar's lolly, Azan's cherry
All have ridden the ride on my ferry.
I get dented, I get bent, I get dirty, I get banged,
But my womb ensures your cash is always on the bang.
I am a metal box, with a wooden floor,
I agree with you a pigs head is a lesser bore.
But some times I do feel bad, I do get mad,
And I do feel very odd
When you say a box is a box is a box.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 05, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Poetically speaking, if one were a shipping container one perhaps would be heart broken at the complete irrelevance customers at times show towards the value a container adds to modern international trade and the role shipping plays the stage of world trade and commerce.

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