sailing westward conning southward

I dreamed I was sailing aboard the “Pinta”––

the boat as much of purgatory as purgatory itself

such as not to be seen in the company of Columbus.

we had horses and goats and pigs and piles of shit to shovel.

at the starboard rail I could see the “Santa Maria”, glorious

at her sheets, the unforgiving hemp catching the wind as if

she were the breath of God !

I’d sell my soul to be aboard the "Santa Maria"!

I don’t recall much of the little “Niña".

she looked awkward and alone like a wayward child being

swept away by the wake of the water.

arr, the “Pinta’s” a working-stiff.

arr, the “Pinta” gets up at daybreak to shovel her shit.

blast if the "Pinta's" stink don't stick to me like the morning's head it is !

––later, when the sun warmed enough, I asked my therapist the meaning

of this dream, but he referred me to someone else.

my dreams frightened him, but nevertheless I didn’t want to drive

such a distance as to affect my mileage, so I didn't show-up for the referral.

––If I was half-the-man I am, I’d say the dream was telling me something.

but it's during the realm of consciousness that the dream reveals itself,

and I fear a coming bout with scurvy from consuming dried, salted anchovies,

and fierce constipation from chomping into jaw-breaking hardtack biscuits.

but such is the life of a common swab, and arr, ye fuckin' "Pinta"!