She would beg:
Press your cool coin
Here and here and here—

If water faring were a game.

But she once paid
For smuggled lips
With children’s years

The same sad way
Her gold-lost fathers did—
A toll nine decades dear.

This swell is no child’s play.

Her only claim:
Scrawled treasure maps and
Deep sea dreams of a pirate’s beard.


One Response to “Fine”

  1. Uche Ogbuji says:

    The framework of this poem makes me think of Lisa Hannigan’s “Lille” and its sublime video:

    But of course the substance of the poem takes one even deeper into Neptune. Much deeper.

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