a garlic poem

The garlic poem
I had a hot shower, water running, easy down the plug hole
like my life on an average day.
Down the plug hole, “isn’t there a song like that “
I noticed foam in the corner, enough to remember
something from a far past.
I waited for my ship to dock at the onion pier.
A clerk came, handed me a bunch of garlic for the ship
I told him I had not ordered any garlic and showed him
 the three silver rings on my uniform.
The clerk smirked and said I must have borrowed the uniform
to impress the ladies.
My inferiority complex took a beating, and I shrank inside
It could see my hands and feet.
I met a woman, the wife of the chief engineer, who was waiting
for the ship also, together we strolled along the dock
where I resentfully through the garlic bunch into the sea
the garlic swelled and became a life-boat that slowly drifted away
towards deep water.
Back at the dock where our ship was supposed to dock
We’re told the ship had come and gone.
The woman sat on a pollard crying, removed her wedding ring
Threw it into the murky harbour water.
I, who had taken pills to be able to urinate, peed into the water
which turned pink.
Truly this man is a saint, it was whispered.
Confident again, my uniform fitted snuggly, and I could see my hands
The clerk asked forgiveness and kissed the onyx ring on my left finger
and gave me another bunch of garlic