On Watch
He stands behind a wheel thick as a mans wrist, ornately spoked and polished, its diameter
half his height; which he fondly strokes as he gazes upon a horizon, red, as in anger, yet,
knows this is not the case and smiles.
His beard, speckled with slivers of gray, hide a face strengthened by wind and sea weathered
beyond his years, accenting eyes, dark, deep as an abyss, that bear witness to the years of
hardship. His teeth clamp upon the stem of a pipe broken to perfection, one of his few
pleasures in this life.
His clothes, unmistakable, upon his shoulder, two chevrons under an eagle, identify him, as a
man of some esteem.
This late night he commands this ship upon the sea, as the deck below his feet creak softly
responding to the pitch of gently lapping waves; reassuring men below all is well.
Gulls, screeching their displeasure, circle above the crows nest protesting the occupation of
their intended perch, their appearance a welcome reminder, just out of sight lies a land
young and rich in resource and history, a land he calls home.
Porpoise, leaping, play in the wake of the ships bow, as to guide this ship home, provide
momentary amusement, while sharks aft of the ship maintain their silent watch, awaiting
their next meal.
As he stands behind his wheel he takes in all of this, knows all is well and good, in the morn,
they dock, once again on dry land, until then he maintains his vigilance, never faltering in his
duty to protect and defend.
As he gently turns the wheel making minor course change, he removes his beret, reaches to
scratch a head void of hair, adjusts his beret until it sets just right, for all who can see, to
read, U.S. Navy.
With a draw on his pipe, America's guardian, remains on watch tonight.
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