the boy sailor

the boy sailor

in 1955, I took a bus to a cove where a ship anchored
along the ship's railing, a group of scowling men passing
time passing, the time spitting into the water.
In the galley, the cook was cleaning his nails using a fish knife
I giant man no one dared to cross him. a friend for life.
With a hardheaded crew and a million cockroaches, a new chapter had begun.
e wore the gray bandana, pallid skin caused by endemic
poverty no soap could rinse away, felt a kinship with them
and they were kind to me a boy peeling their potatoes.
When the ship was in Genoa, I noticed some of the crew wore
perfume, I asked the cook, who said some of them were
going to meet elderly men who gave them dinner
I looked confused, the cook smiled and said. one day you
will understand and shrug your shoulders.
But homosexuality raised its ugly head,

 a deckhand had
patted someone's bum, it was decided
he was gay
and locked in an empty cabin.
in the morning, he was not there,
 a porthole was open
the captain decided the man had committed suicide
and his words were the law
This, a winter in the Black Sea,
 a naked man sat on
an ice-floe, he had red marks on his neck
The naked man pointed a finger at the captain before
he slid off the ice and disappeared
the captain went stark raving mad, and the chief officer
took over the command.
The crew were men who stayed onboard a ship for
a few months, then went ashore in Antwerp and
drank until they were broke and joined another ship
for me, it was also a time to go,
 I had to seek a higher
education lest I end up like them, drowning in
the vast ocean of ignorance