Poetry
Plankton
A poem in silt and surf
I am a substance
Unabused
Filthy green
Choking without sunlight
Laced together
By lazy protozoa
Flagella strangled in bends and knots
As sure as if tied by sailors’ hands
The cloth of me
Drifts
A sail
Beneath murky seas
___
By Doodleslice 2024–07–29
My little junk drawer today is a junk — sails fanned in a quiet, far from any cove.
A breath awaits a breeze. Meanwhile, I am still — laden with heavy cargo. You are always welcome aboard, be ye tar or castaway, but I fear our rations are low. It’s hardtack and salt pork, but you’re welcome to a bunk and a measure, for a fair day’s trade. But heave to and harken to me before you sign on or sup — the cap’n may ask for a tale or a song, and if the telling or the tune is not to his pleasure, if on his countenance hangs the jib, no son of a biscuit eater can spare you from his scowl or a final dance in the hempen hands of ol’ Jack Ketch.
