Marky Celeste

And when they climbed aboard him,
there was nobody there...


No hook hands folded
on a dead man's chest.
No eyes looking skyward
to the nor'-nor'-west.

No moustache combed upwards,
ready for dinner
(cream of tomato,
always a winner).

No words seemed to drip
from dry, salty lips.

What passed in the night?
It can't have been ships.

Four Fisherman's Friends
in an oilskin coat.

Hoy! Something's moving!
There in the lifeboat!

B.R. 03/09/2017

L. S. Lowry: The Sea (1963)