I loved to lounge between her racy prows
while autohelming off a ritzy coast.
I waved grandly at other sailors’ scows.
The fastest cat afloat, I used to boast.
I loved snuggling in her starboard stern
as lullabies of wavelets lapped her hulls
and peeping out her portholes at the turn
of wind or tide, the calls of morning gulls.
I loved mooring her near a posh resort
for friends flown south with all expenses paid.
I even loved waiting for parts in port—
a broken belt or thrown propeller blade.
Now someone else’s mate unfurls her jib;
a solvent skipper steers her out to sea,
comeuppance for a debtor far too glib
before his cash flow proved illusory.
I gave my love more wisely as a lad—
a modest little skiff with gaff-rigged sail—
but I was not content with what I had
so now I watch my pretty cat turn tail.
____; originally printed in Light.
by permission of the author.