Theseus


Not long from now I'll hoist these blackened sails
And cross to Cuba for some fine cigars,
All legal.  Aim my sextant for the stars,
Adjust, set course to make the Dardanelles
By winter.  Maybe moor in harbors and
Bays not too deeply dredged, in fishing towns
Or tourist ports; drink rum like one who drowns
Too happy, diving after contraband.

And all that wanted smuggling were these scars,
And no one wanted bucket duty, bailing
All those years, my need for faith assailing
All the fun of brothels, of tiki bars--
So when I do return, not changing tack,
Don't jump for me: my sails continue black.