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The garlic poem 
I had a hot shower, water running, easy down the plug hole  
like my life on an average day. 
Down the plug hole, “isn’t there a song like that “ 
I noticed foam in the corner, enough to remember 
something from a far past. 
I waited for my ship to dock at the onion pier. 
A clerk came, handed me a bunch of garlic for the ship 
I told him I had not ordered any garlic and showed him 
 the three silver rings on my uniform. 
The clerk smirked and said I must have borrowed the uniform 
to impress the ladies. 
My inferiority complex took a beating, and I shrank inside 
It could see my hands and feet. 
I met a woman, the wife of the chief engineer, who was waiting  
for the ship also, together we strolled along the dock 
where I resentfully through the garlic bunch into the sea 
the garlic swelled and became a life-boat that slowly drifted away 
towards deep water. 
Back at the dock where our ship was supposed to dock 
We’re told the ship had come and gone. 
The woman sat on a pollard crying, removed her wedding ring 
Threw it into the murky harbour water. 
I, who had taken pills to be able to urinate, peed into the water 
which turned pink. 
Truly this man is a saint, it was whispered. 
Confident again, my uniform fitted snuggly, and I could see my hands 
The clerk asked forgiveness and kissed the onyx ring on my left finger 
and gave me another bunch of garlic

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