Toiling amidst the smell of peanut oil and potatoes
A stool to hold our port-of-call
We gather in a longshoreman’s bar
To tell our split of history
How it was and will never be again.
And left to a generous demise of muscle and work
Pensions too small and odd jobs
We tell of storms that brought our hearts
The stiffness of fear
Praying Hail Mary, full of grace
Recollections of Nazi U-boats
And merchant flags lost no easy watch.
And remembering their faces, ghostly white —
In the blackness of gloom in some tomb
At the end of an unnumbered street
No ceremony beneath the flag, no camaraderie
On a pauper’s wooden stack
‘Till the ground bores us stiff
To curdle quietly with our bones.
So this is the bond we make in a juke joint, no dream
But to escape the fear of dying alone
Not in Japan, Russia or Singapore
But riding a barstool in the City of Brotherly Love
The wind at our backs, confessors to the grave
The reach of sailing men to the waves.
2024-01-01