Written By: Birl Brown
Bright morn: A teasing breeze across the bow
And any sound did not the silence mar,
Unless it be the slosh of sea against the prow;
And away, at range an eye can penetrate afar,
A large array upon a steel-clad sea, perhaps they are
Gray whales bent to beach themselves somehow,
But nearer still, beneath the sheen of stripe and star,
Flags of freedom flung from sternpost flutter now.
The mouth of Safi spoke: While overhead, the air
Infected and became a sore. Outward lay
An ancient slaughtered ship, buffer to the flare
Erupting from the shoreline toward the bay.
All debark by nets; those hanging bare
On shipside; those aloft, where boom nets play
At put and take with objects in their care,
Which, in one instance, went astray.
A ruptured net left supper’s food afloat
For other than intended mouths to prey
Upon, or else to self-destruct, like a glut
Of useless garbage dumped into the spray
To sink, in time, down the harbor’s throat:
Fumbled duties, wasted dollars, and decay.
The little boats, hull-full of empty shell, wait
Queued below the web, awaiting men, whose
Step upon a rising, falling, slick and tilting plate,
Might rally, and with iffy footing sure, choose
To aid another, lest their more unstable gait
Imperil both. There’s fearful little time to lose.
Doubt forced the use of impregnated wear
Under the load of masks, and arms, and pack,
Together, absolutely too much gear
For one who slipped – and slid into the crack
Between the hulls. He did not reappear:
From such a fated trap, one comes not back.
Ashore, the city’s planned chaos survives
With Arabs walking in the fatal line-of-fire,
Exerting little effort to try to save their lives,
Or fleeing from the hot afflicted zone. Desire
Wore different garments there, yet ever thrives
The cry for gum and smokes all wars inspire.
Note: Impregnated clothing was for anticipated gas – they did not ‘breathe’.