In Dry Dock


More worthy is my ship than I deserve
yet I have left her here, high and dry
and far from ocean’s trough and crest, where nerve
is not required or called; a place where I
can make believe that I am man enough
to meet her on her own terms on the sea,
to laugh at winds, defy scaled Triton’s bluff,
to play her sails against the gale’s adversity.
Instead I leave her shackled, high and dry
to fend against the grackles and the terns,
and she, who trusted me, can only cry
in anger at her traitor heart which yearns.
And I? I would be timid of her free
for fear her sheets would carry beyond me.

—Don Whittington



3 thoughts on “In Dry Dock

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