Water and Salt

by Jane Steckel

Orignally Published in The Scribbler

All the water and salt I wasted
bawling in bed could make a sea
and raise the bed-frame like a ship.
The wind I squandered in argument
would fill its sails, keep it skating
over whales and under terns.
In Antarctica I'd find a land
frigid as the heart I couldn't move.
In the Sahara I'd feel a desert
more desolate than I was left.
I'd harness dolphins to pull my sea-car,
write my plaint in giant squid's ink.
I'd send it by seahorse to my agent,
become a famous maritime author
who noted the tide, caught the wave.

Then you'd be sorry.

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