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Dave Bonta
I am the captain
leave the going to me
I believe I shall
some ordinary afternoon
I suffer auspiciously as a rose
from unfinished pain
having made myself captain
I know who he is
but you see a man
dead of ordinary melancholy
about the discovery of sand
the captain like any fish
did little but wonder
with my heart of a captain
pain is freight I have set down
at noon to the wood
a tract of masts
and the hard land like a merchant
without any receipt
I met a sea captain
telling stories of slaves:
how they pay for the water they drink,
how they eat on their feet,
how they are all slaves to industry
and other work is counted a crime.
I drank a great deal with him,
my head aching.
The sea, to our great
wonder, is a well.
Captain, tell me stories
of cards playing cards,
money that lost money,
greed made a creed.
O talk high of France
for a fine country,
the tavern for a parliament
staid in talk.
Waters deaf and most amorous
make bad company.
Water fell, choosing places to keep
with great authority.
Captains of the fleet
coming cap in hand
went home with a hose.
In the morning mill,
who but the brawn and glass
captain clapping?
They serve the poor
a long, no-brother talk
about business and God.
Captain Cock
is an able man
but his gifts are little—all talk—
and he continues to be afraid
of the holster.
A sun for myself—
pie of a life I never tasted.
I am captain. I set sail
for the farewell chance.
A man, a man, a man
came from London, from London, from London
to the arms of a captain, a captain, a captain…
and it comes now into my mind to observe that I have been a little too free to make mirth, he being a very sober and an upright man.
A captain with no ship,
is what I’ve become.
The past is the past,
it can’t be undone.
I ask very much,
from my new crew.
But expect nothing,
that I wouldn’t do too.
The seas will be rough,
you need ability.
But just beyond,
is the Sea of Tranquility.