Emily Brochin

Blues Poem

Whoever has the key to the white oared boat by the dock

Should give the key to me.

Whoever knows how to rudder the white oared boat by the dock,

Should come along with me,

Down to the strange beach and the strange blue bobbing hats,

And we’ll see what we can see.

The phosphorescence is out tonight,

Trailing yellow strands of light in the murky water

And the floating tangles are out tonight

They will catch my hair in the inked water

I can still see my whiteness, fleeting

As bait set for the fish to scatter.

No one has plans to sleep

That would be a sin.

To stop, to slumber, to kiss sleep

Would certainly be a sin.

It is best to hold the faintly buzzing time,

Begging for another gin.