A Garlic Poem

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