The Captain on Wrecking Whores and Garbage

 
Stranded ashore  
the captain waits  
for a drier moment  
weather eye on the window  
while voyages from his past  
tiptoe in and away  
 
He shakes his head  
at the last course  
set through coffee stains  
on the chart  
remembering the reef  
in the wrong place  
the groaning of a grounded keel  
ribs splintered  
like a drowning whale  
 
Back when he could smoke  
still share a glass  
and joke about  
the finer things of life--  
the ladies in his cabin  
or fair winds that followed  
under constant blue skies  
he'd fetch the smallest island  
with unconcealed delight  
but seldom a hint  
of surprise  
 
He'd tell you why  
a blonde whore  
was too much trouble for a sailor
so he always chose brunettes  
preferring to reflect  
on anything at all  
rather than his chore today  
 
The sky around him now
remains stubborn  
a rogue wave at his shoulder  
refusing to behave  
and he's heard how city people  
die every day  
hauling out their garbage  
in the rain