Illustration by Robin Carter
A Complaint About Getting on the Gangplank
Straw-yellow gangplank quivers, wind shook, rocks.
Some planks are missing, holes. Beneath
Needlefish, seaweed swim. A slip, a fall.
Above the circling of red headed buzzards.
On brow, a snake, gold, sticks out its tongue.
We walked toward entrance of an empty ship.
We have no need to be on planks, but are.
We strut, look down, as if we were puppets.
A monk, rope round his waist, stumbles, hurries.
He has a purpose, belief. We are slow,
Enjoy the danger, despair about end.
Once on gangplank one must pretend, then move.
- Duane Locke
Posted over on A World of Poetry
1 comment:
Ahh, the great gangplank of life we all are on.
Post a Comment