I Sent A Man The Sea

I sent a man the sea, inside a box,
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.

by Jerry Pike

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