Within pudgy hands held away
From a doughy stomach
The man descended the mall steps
Holding a ship of lacquered wood
With ice-scratch rigging
Lacing hand-wrought spars and masts
And sails glowing Caribbean white.
Heads turned,
A hand hovered over an ashtray
In a slow motion flick,
A bearded face staring stared instead
In that direction, and housewives
With bags and strollers talked sideways.
The ship with the golden name was placed
On a table, a Formica sea,
A Sargasso Sea, of doughnut crumbs,
Cups and coffee-stained napkins.
Heads in curlers, old faces,
Tired faces, defeated and business faces
Orbited, marveling at the intricacy
The majesty of creation, recalling that
Once such a ship sailed
Free and statuesque with a catch of wind
Like a breath being held
Driving the graceful hull to Zanzibar,
Calcutta, Dakar, and Singapore,
Ports like nets catching youth dreams.

An unseen movement stirred the air
Sails billowed then drooped
The watching faces turned away
Packages gathered, coffee finished
An ash falls like a burned out thought.

Joseph Yenkavitch is a freelance writer living in Vermont and Florida. He has been published in various magazines and newspapers thorughout the country and is the author of a young adult novel, On A Distant World. He recently began writing press releases.