Bernard Spragg General Domain
There was a silent moon. It had a hue
around it; over the sea the boats bobbedin navy waters, and the light house throbbed
its sonorous pulse, resonant and true.
The ocean was in mist, carded grey-blue—
the yarn of a former time, women sobbed
only behind closed doors, as men went off
to sea. All who were sailors, both genders grew
pale at the task of fighting viral load
in invisible sea monsters everywhere.
As their sense of their sea legs sore increased,
they became more curt, sea captains bloated
with disinfectant, pride in dinnerware—
long tables presided, lilacs, depressed.
