The Old Deckhand Dreams Poem by jackilton peachum

THE OLD DECKHAND DREAMS
Getting along in years you'd think would be easier
-- drifting into a quiet quadrant of sea,
tides not so fierce, waves not crashing as loud—
but the same old boomers're beating on the beach each night,
sometimes, I wake to the feel of reef under my hull
— I think the current is trying t' pull me under--
then again, the sharks that show up are the same old fellows,
just as grey, just as hungry, showing just as many teeth.