Abaft the weather bent the time
outside the ship, around the shore
we saw its smoke, in airy climb,
to fumigate from here to yore.
The fume was rising from the two
tall funnels covering its shape
with darkened soot, while dead its crew
was calling us behind its drapes.
The smoke was dancing back and forth
persuading us to move and sway;
Ironic shined the star of North
reluctant breeze slid down the brae.
We thought it was the ship's horn or
three sailor ghosts that danced charades,
behind the smoke, our nightly chore
had mimicked them outside of Hades.
The soot was covering the land,
some scattered lights that blinked and cried,
diffused away at its demand
until forgotten, sank and died.
We followed thence, the engines' chug
to dance around two skyward lines
where hung the ship's torn island flag
and our charades that drowned in brines.
© 10-14-2013, G. V., All Rights Reserved