We got off the bump of New Year, 2018

is a submarine run aground on an island

in the Saragossa Sea.

Her sailors walk in ring drink whisky from

 bottles that never empty and don`t make

the drunk enough to dance a jig.

The sailors’ life is an odd one they see

life passes by but always from a distance

when they finally go ashore, it is the second

best offer the divorcees of availability.

Yesterday’s hamburger, stale ketchup and

rejected buns, they take what is accessible,

no other choice as the ship sails on and on…








◄ religion versus culture

wordsmith ►



Wed 2nd Jan 2019 16:20

I don't like ketchup Jan... But I do love this poem.

Keep on 'Jiggin'


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