Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Cold Poem

ONE, TWO, THREE, HEAVE!
ONE, TWO, THREE, HEAVE!
AVAST!
SLACK DOWN EASY!
HEAVE! HEAVE! HEAVE!
My ship pulls into port.
We make a formation.
The wind is still whipping our coveralls.
The cold is on our skin.

SECURE FROM SEA AND ANCHOR DETAIL.
There it is.
The sound of freedom.
Now I can take comfort inside,
The skin of the ship.

MAY, SET UP THE RAT GUARDS.
Crud.
AndsoIgoandgetahelmetandpickuparatguard.
And still the cold is on my skin.

I walk to the jack staff.
(Imagine me being Jack in Titanic.
Except there is no girl,
And I don't pretend to fly).
I am only attempting to attach the rat guard
on the line I was just heaving.
And still the cold is on my skin.

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site