How still sits the Captain?

How still sits the Captain?

His ship so long departed

Wistful thoughts follow

The same course.

He once did sail

In masterful control

Of his decisions

If not the outcome.

A lively sea can be

A fickle mistress

The tooth of the wind

As sharp as any biting barb

Thrown his way

For gazing at the horizon.

Milky eyes misted with memory.

Too many crew members

Fall by the wayside,

As the watch change is strict and regular

With little recognition

Of attachment to a task

They even ring a bell.

Lord knows where all the lookouts

Are stationed

The one by the door

Press Ganged into service

After a night on the tiles

Has fallen asleep.

Dereliction of duty

Is punishable by five lashes

He has heard the screams

Through the bulkhead door

Of his cabin

Where he keeps a bottle of rum

Hidden in a chest

Beneath his bunk

He will have a nip before lights out.

There is no point

To any of it

Is all he thinks

As the PA. swings

To a jaunty hornpipe

There is irony in madness.

He would laugh if he thought

It would do any good

But like any crew,

The staff are only as good

As their captain

And she has already charged out

With all guns blazing

To shout at the old dear

From stateroom number four

Who couldn’t wait for the bell

To strike eight

Before opening her seacocks

In a soggy flounder

And was scuppered.

Too late for her

Too soon for the staff.

The Captain

Nipped his buttocks tight

He would find his relief

At the end of his watch

And not before.