The icy water breaks upon the bow of the crab filled hauls.
The old men laugh at the young boys, who complain and shiver. For they, unlike
their erstwhile companions are not straight with such an unforgiving chill. The
dingy blue wilderness of the sea cries, and tosses her white foam across the
red faces of tiny men gripping to support.
From
his throne above the captain shouts to speed up, the day’s pay. For the ocean
is not a gentle lover, but colder than a fish and deafer than a goat. The weak
men lay hands on the robust and the brotherhood is complete. Within the soul of
the ship strangeness dies perplexed, and only familiarity survives.
A
lonely few remain, dismayed as to why sickness has brought them hence. Joy is
but a faint forgotten scar, fondness lost in the germs of misery. This track
will dry the sap in the veins of men, but upon land allow the gifts that govern
spoiled boys.
-Johnny V.
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