A Shanty

A Shanty. I will walk to where the open mass grave of bleached sandstones is, the grave is flanked by sober olive trees, which have silvery leaves and in the breeze remind me of the Black Sea. I was on tank-ships walked on iron decks and dreamt of sandy beaches, when ship docked miles of pipes and oil refineries was on offer, and lights of cities were always too far away. Badly paid and far from home this was not a song of a “Youngman Jansen’s life; a loss of time if you ask me. The slam of an engine door a watch over, the sea was isolation. Ashore together fearful of wolves that circled us looking for the weakest in the flock, drink up it’s midnight the last launch back to our ship in the bay is leaving now, yes, lost was time. Deep shadows in the vale trees are green again as breeze dies, I’ll leave my past where it belongs in the cupboard of the forgettable, I’m free now and no longer a prisoner of the sea.