Navigating Age

“Ahoy, Salt!
Whar you from?
Never knew one like you.”

“I´m an old sailor,” I say. “This is how
old sailors are -
not swashbuckling, irrelevant and
beating to windward.
Should be, anyway.”

“Uh huh.”


“You know how it is?
Don´t you mate?
Think long and hard about it -
the winds that have wailed,
shredded sails
and worn the lashings
of this ship in its many seas?”

“Naw. Yar still Jack-Tar!”

“Seaman! Have you eyes? Ears?
You confuse sealegs
with youth, grappling with
passion? My certainty long drowned,
I navigate by current and breeze
following no particular star.”