I had this dream where I relished the fray
and the screaming filled my head all day.
It was as though I'd been spit here,
settled in, into the pocket
of a lighthouse on some rocky socket
off the coast of france, dear.
One afternoon four thousand men died in the water here,
And five hundred more were thrashing madly
as parasites might in your blood.
Now I was in a lifeboat designed for ten and ten only.
Anything that systematic would get you hated.
It's not a deal nor a test nor a love of something fated, death
the selection was quick, the crew was picked
in order and those left in the water
got kicked off our pant leg
and we headed for home.
Then the dream ends
when the phone rings,
"You doing all right?"
He said, "It's out there most days and nights
but only a fool would complain."
Anyway, Susan, if you like
Our conversation is as faint a sound in my memory
as those fingernails scratching on my hull.