by Barry Basden
Tattered sails flap above the schooner,
all but worn out.
I am on the teak deck,
sitting with ladies holding parasols,
drinking mojitos and
watching the warships
maneuver off the starboard bow.
Violence and commerce
are officially in season.
wails toward the beaches.
Greenpeace hides in the seine with the bluefin.
Grappling hooks are brought to bear and
there is a jumble of silver bellies,
Later, we can hear
across the pearly waters,
giving up their young for base metals.
Albatrosses gasp in the waves.
A rainbow sheen rubs salt into wounds.
From inland comes a distant rumble and,
somewhere out in that wild yonder,
rusty car bombs
exchange furious needs
with predator drones.
Orange traffic cones stand guard
in the burning desert.
The ladies lift their glasses as
I toss the wreath overboard.
*Barry Basden has been published here and there and edits Camroc Press Review
- my writing style
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- ▼ July (26)
- ► 2009 (484)