Away From the Camera

Away From the Camera. In the Bay of Bengal, near Tripura, a tank ship ran aground, an old ship that had been economical for its owner, carrying crude for a hungry west and crewed by low paid seamen. And she was sold to the people who would tear ships apart, like French avant-garde butchers with hearts of frozen rocks. Squall in the bay, the ship broke anchor and, like a horse that seeks grassland, she sought high seas. Alas she had oil onboard must be caught before spill washed on sandy shore. Cowboy tugboats rode out lassoed the old lady back to the place of destruction. It is in the Bay of Bengal the infidel drowned Bin Laden, in moonlight his coffin is a silvery specter in the bay. It drifted to shores of New Jersey, on the voyage made a devil´s pact with sandy storm; revenge for those who dare laugh in the face of Islam. For her crew this meant little, but pale memories of peace when dolphins played on cobalt sea, and grown men had hearts of poetry.