Suddenly a big hole opened up in the sea, the ship sank into it; the vessel
rests on the bottom, where shiny star fish light up the dark before they are
swallowed by sharks. The captain on his bridge, cook in his galley, the first
engineer in the engine room, as it was dinner time when she sank, her crew
are in the mess room, dancing ghoulishly around as the sea gently sighs.
And sometimes, the skeletal face of the deck boy peeks through a porthole
asks when the ship arrives in New York, a girlfriend waiting for him; there is
a moment of hilarity as dead sailors move about free of man’s burden.
The cook rests in a large pot, tells himself he must wake up, bake bread
and do the bloody dishes as he tries to get his cigarette lighter to work.
Her captain bobs up and down trying to find his charts, maps of the ocean
currents and wonders why the radar isn’t working. The engineer is trying to
find out why the engine stalled. I knew them all, but dastardly left them in
Rio de Janeiro just because I met a girl called Maria.
