The cook was standing in the galley
cleaning his fingernails with a carving knife
and reeking of a whore’s stolen perfume.
‘Any breakfast left?’
He didn’t answer
but pointed his knife towards a frying pan
where a pair of shrivelled eggs had drowned in white fat.
Skipped breakfast, purred myself a mug of tepid coffee stood on deck
and watched the Irish Sea,
it was as grey as the sky above
and slapping lazily against the ship’s rusty flanks.
A few seabirds, also grey,
followed her wake bird wings didn’t flap
and for a moment thought
I was in a gallery admiring a famous painting of
a realistic and unromantic seascape.
The cook came out on deck too
peed into the sea and said:
‘Time to peel potatoes and clean up after breakfast’
The ship shuddered slightly as meeting choppy sea,
finding it unpleasant.
I was on my way to Kingston, Jamaica to visit Teresa,
my very tall and beautiful girlfriend
who politely never wore high heeled shoes
when we went out dancing
and this was the cheapest way to get there.
Never mind, two more days,
when we sailed passed the Azores,
the weather would clear, blue sky and ditto sea
till we reached the Caribbean
where the sea would be turquoise
and my fingernails clean enough to caress her golden thighs.