— naval ship 1960-61
a Chief leans his elbow
on a stainless steel shelf near the bridge’s hatch,
time-in hash marks on that arm’s sleeve,
—stands leaning, left hip against
a cupboard’s doors
left leg bent at the knee
its calf crossing in front of his right,
left foot’s toe to the right of the right
perpendicular to deck, heel up,
nonchalant, while everything rolls in gentle seas,
which is good because a coffee-cup
sloshes in his bent arm’s hand
as he, without thought, adjusts to the
steel ship’s roll and, after a drag,
reaches to pull butt from lips,
squinting, most of which scene is a blur,
as Chief’s cocked hat and all float
in a nicotine cloud lit like a borealis
of radar-screen blue and amber hues,
backed by tuned scents
of smoke and caffein brew,
to the beat of old salt’s tales
and boy-seaman’s laugh
which rock and roll forever
to Neptune’s blues
Jim Culleny
5/8/19
Blink 