His Overboard Tale
Ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and
freighted with the memories and the dreams of time.
—H.P. Lovecraft, The Best of H.P. Lovecraft:
Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre
His Overboard Tale
My captain bellows, “heave-ho.”
Off the plank I go, overboard.
I plunged into the night, entangled in
aberrant irises of the deep.
When my abject insanity rewinds,
I wish that I had swallowed the sea.
The kiss of salt and seaweed,
the wretch filled my lungs.
The Shes were more fish than maid
with huge hips and floundering tails.
The strange language of burbles,
their breasts made me gag…
Seahag hair, menacingly like Medusa’s.
I surmised sirens locks would actually bite.
My dreams capsized.
Why am I alive?
I’d rather that the chest be covered.
I shall never recover.
That’s why this landlubber
drinks and drinks, burbles.
At the end I was found on a rock.
I hit the rocks hard.
Swallow the water, lad.
Leave no room for desire.
Mermaids are a misnomer;
breaststroking in Bruichladdich proof.
Have a swim lad in this label
and stay far away from shore.
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