As cook on a ship I hated her crew, rats posing as seafarers.
A night when the ship passed by the shores of Panama, and
I saw my chance. Loosened the ships raft and as it glided into
the sea I jumped after. Moon lit night I sat dreaming listening
to the song of the sea. In its embrace I fell asleep when I woke
the raft was tugging a beautiful white strand. The locals were
frying red snappers with lemon juice for breakfast. I thought
of the crew, thugs from hell, had to make their own breakfast.
This glorious morning I was free of the sea and narrow minded
men who had never read a book and whose idea of pleasure
was a harbour whore. Yet, such is the pull of the ocean that
I still dream of its sun showy surface, on days when her crew
was resting on their scruffy rust dirty cabins. Yet, know I know
the fault was mine not seeing their despair.
