ANTIPODE
I am sailing on this wide-eyed water rising
in swells and fits; every heave of this craft
makes me nauseous again. How can I
hold steady when I feel like I'm ready to
die? Near me, the two blue-eyed fisherman
are boldly drawing in their catch - fish after
fish, as if it never ends. Feed the masses, then?
I would certainly think so. They smoke their
lethal cigarettes, clouding my air even more.
Have I mentioned I want to die?
-
This far out on the water, what can I see?
Only a distant horizon, traced gently with
Atlantic City buildings - the sick skyline
of hotel and casino. It's actually far enough
away that I can use the fixed line of sight
to see how high we rise and fall. This
ocean water's always a gamble. How
high? (Have I mentioned I want to die?).
2 comments:
I had no desire to try to analyze or parse this poem. I read it three times to enjoy its unity of image and feeling. M
Thank you, Margarethe. I am so happy that you commented. And happy as well that I was able to write something you enjoyed. That makes me glad. The unity of image and feeling! Ah, even if only imagined, seasickness and swells.
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