|
| |
Old Neptune
Always changing, moving, rising and falling.
I love to stand by a sandy strand
and yell at the ever-rolling ocean.
I go down
to the restless seas and tidal lakes,
I go down as an exiled Neptune goes down
to shake my trident in a brazen joy and defiance,
to be part of that upheaval of the sea
but not in it.
I love the tides how they
move us in and out of one space
to another.
I am brave no more,
I am water in the mouth of a fleeing fish,
it is my unspoken secret.
The ocean is too dangerous for a man of my stout age.
Neptune now reigns within straw huts
or beach front mansions.
Too much salt
and I gag.
Yet I love to go (at a distance),
to meet the seas stormy depths,
to wave my arms, to lift my trident high,
to spin it like a baton
otherwise, what is it good for?
The very worst day for me
is a day becalmed, a day without ebb and flow.
No need to pity old Neptune,
I never did like shellfish.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
|
|