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Poem

TITANIC

The seawater around my ankles is so cold
Who’d have thought in this final moment
That when my time is near, I’d be smiling
Well, it is more of an ironic grin, perhaps
Damn those tea leaves, they kind of knew
I just scoffed – back then, but not now
As the deck lurches again, and I stumble
Some muffled creaking sounds from above
Who would be in any doubt that we’re lost
I guess the North Atlantic claims another
And all that I have to record my thoughts
Is a fountain pen and a pile of wet paper
Back in my cabin that’s somewhere nearby
My unfinished novel, what inspiration now
None will ever read it or remember me
Some forgotten prospective author, huh
The cold water is now lapping at my waist
I have nowhere to go, except … down
These last few years have been tolerable
But my New York debut will have to wait
Probably a very long time. Ghost writers.
I could have made it in the land of dreams
Leaving the damp fog of London behind
There are none nearby who will listen
Except that one face down over there
But now the last lights have gone out
It’s dark now, so all I have is my thoughts
And this damned water making me float
As my head now bumps on the ceiling
What a voyage this was, clearly to oblivion
So there is no-one to say goodbye to
Except the fish, when they investigate
So long and all the best - better than me
I’ll see Davy Jones when I check in soon
Just thoughts, eh. I expected to do better

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