The Last Voyage Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

A ship's last voyage

The tank ship that looked like a schooner finally
made it from the black sea to Reykjavik in Iceland
The ship dry as the dust of the Sahara surrounded
by undrinkable water, the crew was eager to go
ashore and find a watering- hole selling beer.
Back then, Reykjavik was a dark town with few
streetlights and in the throes of temperance
There was no booze or wine, only watery beer that
was awful but in our situation better than nil.
The first café we came to was full of individuals
reading books in silence; we didn't know Iceland
is a literate place everyone reads or write
books when not talking about literature but for
us it was a boring café we wanted fun and light.
We found a café selling beer, and the crew got
hold a bottle of homemade booze; in a country
where alcohol intake is restricted, people make
their own wine or liquor.
The voyage had been long and arduous; the ship
and her captain had survived the war and hoped
their voyage would last forever; it didn't last
Of all ironies, the ship returned to Odessa and sold
as scrap iron.