POETIC JOURNALISM

Can You Hear the Groans in Your Gift Stocking?

Seafaring

Updated November 7, 2022

whooooOoooshhh … whooooOoooshhh …
somewhere, 40-foot steel containers moan—
victoria’s secrets, holiday soaps, fooood,
toilet rolls, laptops
across atlantic/pacific groan—

weapons—in the ’80s
front for iraq, rear for iran—
political cartoon non-chalant.
big oil sees no difference.

whooooOoooshhh … whooooOoooshhh …
somewhere, a colossal merchant vessel sinks
—one every four days—
moving the globe by sea
not drone nor cyberspace.

oil/sludge/body dumping—
laws of the land apply not here—
international waters where human crimes
fly unknown.

whooooOoooshhh … whooooOoooshhh …
somewhere, a small-bodied seaman folds over*
ship rail, chipping paint not ancient, ocean eaten.
chip, paint. chip, paint. chip, paint.
ship bobbing, body bobbing.

a norwegian turnaround exposes. arctic blade slashes
novice tropical sailors’ ignorant windbreakers.
a shipmate decays. dues not paid.
stranded not landed not flown.

whooooOoooshhh … whooooOoooshhh …
somewhere, flags of convenience hail
countries landlocked, now sail.
sovereignties extend in labels
change hands in bail—goods and peoples.

howling engines boiler rooms deafen—
stowaways bend, pipes stifle
breath on hold—
next port weeks portend.

whooooOoooshhh … whooooOoooshhh …
somewhere, wholesale garbage ships.
canada exports, philippines imports.
send it back! canada the garbage trap?
send it forth! hongkong, india, malaysia now trapped.

somewhere, someone opens
their holiday soap.
discards.
indifferent.

WhooooOoooshhh … WhooooOoooshhh …
somewhere, a groaning hull continues, crashing waves.

Thanks to Sally A Mortemore for the generous gift of recording this poem and bringing it to life:

reading by Sally A Mortemore / uploaded Nov 6, 2022