Gull on a Spar
I’m a gull on a spar —so much sea,
so little far
this perch is so unsteady
I wonder what my bearings are
the roll and sway and pitch,
the other gull-calls I am hearing
as ship slides into ditch of trough,
this captain must be drunk the way he’s steering
or the helmsman is asleep, his compass eye is off,
the sluggish rudder’s answer is as drawn-out as a stutter
and I’m clinging to this spar like a baby to its mother
as the sun is going down wind screams or it is singing
the ship’s eighth bell is ringing, the moon is coming up—
the image in that mirror, is that me or is that other?
Jim Culleny
6/24/20