Shipwreck

forty two.

There was a haunted boat lodged in the sand at the preschool I went to.

To go inside you had to make sure everyone was watching

Climb up the little wooden ramp, round the ledge running the perimeter

And through the cobweb curtains caught by late afternoon sun,

Inside were two captain chairs where the ghosts lazily reclined.

Michael Lemon stood silhouetted in the doorway, too scared to go in

And when I caught my yellow and orange flowered skirt on a rogue bit of metal

And when I shrieked that a dead man got me

He went running.

But I liked to stay alone, and think on my runaway sailors.

Surely no one had lost their life on that boat, it had broken down
Or grown tiresome.


Even the children grew tired of it eventually
Parents tore it out and put in a jungle gym years later
With no souls living in it.

But Michael Lemon kissed me clumsily, when I returned victorious onto the sand 

And leaned back proud as all hell against the rainbow peeling wood,

Him knowing full well I was fearless.