The Commander Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

the commander

Going on board my ship, a balmy night in Gibraltar
I noticed four old warships (hunter class) tied up
together on a deserted pier as waiting for the final
verdict, to be turned into nails or sunk.
Having drunk beers with an ex. Royal navy people
I boarded one ship, walked up to the bridge
And took command
Giving orders to drop depth charges against
a German U-boat, I heard a voice behind me say:
"This is state property you have to leave."
He took his helmet off and whipped his shiny doom,
a sociable copper, not looking for upgrades by
arresting people.
Leisurely we walked to my merchant ship
in a few hours, I would get up, cook breakfast
but I had, briefly, been a commander.