I Sent A Man The Sea
I sent a man the sea, inside a box,
by Jerry Pike
with all those little splashes from my youth,
white water tips to waves my hand could touch,
and gold from mermaid’s purses, filled with truth.
I piled the tide to one flat cardboard edge,
brown tape and glue, secured its sailboat feet,
and wedged the darking currents between ships,
while stray tornadoes lurked its choppy street.
I washed each stretch of sand, each pebbled throw,
and ironed neat the gull-cries from their screech,
put sand eels in one corner for the terns,
and bends for lonely divers, out of reach.
I crumpled down the hatches, jammed each mast,
ran rigging ragged round and round that rock,
and as the rascal showed his spiny horns,
I sealed, it stamped, chained it shut, by lock.
I heard it reached some Devonish repose,
where uncle time, cut teeth and loosed its wraps, .
Post locally in future, to your friends,
and mind you waterproof those paper flaps.