The Captain
He sat all alone, drinking jim beam and coke
Looking out as the waves crashed ashore
He kept to himself, drinking jim beam and coke
As the storm winds would batter the door
He'd only come in when the weather was rough
Sitting alone, drinking Jim Beam and coke
Looking out at the waves never saying a word
Just this man and his Jim Beam and coke
He'd lived all his life in this sea faring town
Working ships from the time he was ten
He grew up real fast on the high roiling seas
Doing work that was best left for men
His father had run a small fleet of five
Chasing cod up the Grand Banks each year
But as cod stocks declined and the fishing died out
His old man sold off his old gear
One boat was left, a shrimper, it was
It was christened the "Bain of my Life"
It was a jab at his job, but as his dad liked to say
"I named the damn boat for me wife!"
They ran this old boat till the paint was worn off
Fixing nets, running traps and old lines
Catching shrimp, heading home....and time after time
Getting soaked in the stormy old brine
He sat in the bar looking out as the waves
Grew and intensified more
With his Jim Beam and Coke, looking out to the sea
And dried peanut shells crushed on the floor
When the fair weather came, he was never about
He was down by the ships holding court
For as sea farers go and tellers of tale
He was the best one they had in this port
He told of the time that their boat had been hit
By a wave twice as tall as the ship
But his dad kept her up, and they only lost pots
And the "Bain" proved she couldn't be flipped
On fair weather days he would start out his day
At the Church of the Maritime Witch
It was a small little bar, serving breakfast till ten
And the bartender there was a *****
At least that's his word to describe Betty Jean
He would call her this name and then grin
For he'd known Betty Jean for his whole bloody life
She was this old seafarers sister, his twin
She'd run the old bar for about 40 years
Took it on when she lost on a bet
She 's been there ever since and she won't tell a soul
How she lost and why she's never left yet
But, on days like today, she'd shut down the bar
Batten windows and hope for the best
For with 90 knot winds and just plywood and nails
Her bar would be put through a test
So he'd come up here drinking Jim Beam and coke
Watching out to the sea past the break
He watch for the ships coming in from the storm
Seeing just how much sea they could take
He'd name 40 men who he knew lost their lives
Facing death on the water to fish
But there only was one for who he'd give up his place
and that was his eternal wish
His son was lost out on the bubbling sea, chasing cod
When they knew there were few
He was out on a ship that was captained by him
and a small, inexperienced crew
His son was swept off by a swell straight from hell
It was two miles long if an inch
He was working the nets when the rogue wave did hi
ttaking his son, two pots and a winch
He'd spent fifteen years searching daily for him
His body had never been found
Davy Jones held it fast in the depths of the sea
To which his sons soul forever was bound
He gave up his search and he never went back
Never fished for a shrimp or a cod
He'd just sit on the dock watching out at the waves
Praying silently this prayer to God
"Please give me my son, so I can bury him whole"
"Let him surface so he can find peace"
"I only ask this, for my sister and me"
"And for his daughter, my dear little niece"
"We've waited for years for a sign...even small"
"Just to show us that your job is done"
"I'll never go out on the water again"
"Regardless of how strong they run"
"I ask you dear Lord, for his body to see"
"So we can consecrate him back to the earth"
"This is all I ask, and I will ask no more"
"Just how much is my dear son's life worth"
With an amen and a smoke to finish it off
He'd head back to his sisters to sit
He'd drink Jim Beam and coke till "the *****" sent him home
With a hug and a kis and a "git"!
But on days like today he'd watch waves crash ashore
Hoping no more were lost to the sea
Drinking Jim Beam and coke, sittling all on his own
Wishing God would set his son free
If you're down by the docks when the weather is fine
Look for him and he'll tell you a tale
But don't ask about that terrible night
When he lost his young son to a swale
Copyright © Roger Turner | Year Posted 2018
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