PENKNIFE

every house that i flee from is a sinking ship
but there were flags in the rigging when i got to it
we sail through fog through any weather
we raid and rave and drink together, but
the air turns cold like metal in the mouth
the ship turns blind and veers to the south
the storms build up and the sail tears
everyone together saying prayers
and the sailors and the chefs spot the albatross
short-straw boy made to tell the boss
fingers wouldn’t thaw under steely gaze
slams the door in a violent rage
wringing his hands in his little cabin
sweating and reflective got him dabbing
kerchief to the brow, throws his hat off
a tot of brandy to keep the sweats off
“i believed in them, helped them make this happen
i laughed with them; never laughed at them
paid my dues and i drowned my devils
now who’s walking the plank… the cap’n!”

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