the end of everything
The end of everything
The master of the old tank ship that resembled a schooner
sat fretting in his cabin; for twenty years, he had been
the master of the vessel, a friendship between the animate
and the inanimate had developed.
During the war years, the ship delivered high-octane plane
fuel from the USA to Britain, with him on the bridge in storms
and calm; they had seen ships blown up by torpedoes, both
on the starboard side and the portside, it was as the ship and
he breathed in unison.
For five years, they had traversed across the Atlantic except for
a few times when she was in dry dock for maintenance and
when everyone had gone ashore, he stayed onboard, keeping
her company.
So many faces, too many to remember, had crossed her decks
no one stayed long,« she had no comfort in offering narrow cabins
shower units connected to the cold sea; didn’t they
see she had kept them alive?
It is over now, sold as scrap, he, homeless.
Once the king had given him medals, he and the ship had
been extolled in the papers, saying she was a lucky ship
and that they called him a great seaman.
Soon enough, he would go to the mystic island where sailors
and Nirvana’s Ocean cleanses the memories of the departed.
Copyright © Jan Hansen | Year Posted 2025
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