Sweet Sailor Baby

Sweet Sailor Baby
only comes out when it’s storming
Wet travels across big white squares
Look out for the vents!
Seven miles above I watch through glass
a sad film about a child who asks a face painter to turn them into a slug
but the face painter doesn’t understand and I think I am crying
But it could be the steam.
My eyes fill with white smoke and I begin to drift
South, while my friend squelches up toward me
Closer and closer, I am going to steal their hat
when we pass, my arm hangs stiff like big pasta in a small pan.
The boiling water is poured and the white smoke returns, I pull back
don’t worry, my arm is al dente
But my friend has gone
Sailing through the floodwater that drips from the walls


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s