The Boat
I don’t expect to see his boat
moored amid the feathered plumes
of the pampas grass.
Paint flecks rising in the breeze
like rowers lifting their oars.
He used to tell of sirens and sea ghosts,
taught us how to navigate by the stars.
Warned about the swell and how
it could toss a little boat like a wet rag.
He’d be there with his pipe and yellow hat
and we were his sea-licked urchins
with sand in the gaps between our toes
and the brine of the seas clinging to us
long after we went home.
Sam Payne is a writer living in Devon. She is currently studying for an MA in Creative Writing with Teesside University through their distance learning programme. Her poems have appeared in several places online including, Ink, Sweat and Tears and The Open Mouse.
atriumpoetry.com 