Musket Cove

Pirates and castaways, in our white youth
My brother and I set oars through salt, orphans of the ocean

Pouncing upon an anchored galleon,
its rigging rustling above bare decks and mocktails,
we clambered over the ghost ship
Capturing it without even bloodying our cutlasses

Buccaneers, with smoking fuses for hair
The Fijian lagoon was at our whim and mercy
But not the tides…

Left stranded, now we lit flares
Deciding we had need of a mother afterall

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