The river sulks

Rotting hulks and weathercocks
one eyed mates look to the fates
the lookout slumbers on.

High tide rolls in with a memory
kissing gangplanks and
sliding through the Sargasso sea,
privateers, mutineers,
the hookhanded,
deck sanded
cabin Jim’s with stripey socks
getting off on getting off their rocks

a pirates life may be
now underneath the sea
but as sure as parrots shit
it’s
the only one for me

© 2020, John Smallshaw.