(no subject)

[jadedhate]

The Canary

Alone on this ship
we toss promises around
and over the side,
anchoring us in ten
foot waves, each one
the toothless open mouth
of an old man with an
old white moustache.
We stand beneath clouds
like coal miners hands
occasionally lit by the
sweep of other miners
headlamps.  And we can
hear them pounding away
and we can hear the
rocks falling and the
panicked silence before
they realize they’re trapped
and we can hear the scared
waiting and the crying
of wives and mothers
and daughters and sons.

Those trapped miners,
we can hear their hopes
snapping loose, like bow
lines in a fierce Neptunian blow.
Their anchors of calm
and reason, rooted in
memories of kissing
their wives while drinking
whiskey and listening to
the Beatles, have come
loose, as anchors tend
to do in stormy seas.
And we can hear
their anguish crashing all
around us, we can hear
worry worn and tightened
knuckles fighting stubborn
walls the color of the
worst rain clouds, we
can hear the walls
just taking it like a
heavy weight champ, waiting
to land the final blow.

Alone on this ship
our anchors hold us
in place just long enough
for the old man’s mouth
to open in a towering
cry of anguish,
swallowing us whole.