Jolly

Jolly faded into his black back and slipped from the top
but fell soft on the reddish ring, the bottom thing
not in the scratchy wake or ruddy felt
of the sprinkler flapper canvas sop.

Not just anyone saw him sway and pause and sway and fall
but wrapped, he did around the splintered metal hole
and would have smelled like salt, but the captain saw.

Rest the crew thought something was up or something was down
and that was the frown that snuck along their leather faces
or pride in the place of a crippled fisted pound.

Wonder, they, where the Roger lay on beds of plank sand
and Skipper near the mast, when the jig fell down to slay
his liver while he pulled the eyepiece up and spotted land.

Jumping ship the flag was caught by one more gust or spray or thrust
and brushed the churn while twenty-seven universes burned
before the undergale squeezed his bones
into a ball of water dust.