Shipping forcast

Of a Sunday we would mass
Around the wooden box.
The goons would fade,
Memories of Spike would linger
Long into the next week,
I would be both glued and hushed.
Father would lean inward.
Names lept from the walnut
They left me pondering
Mizzen, Dogger German Bite
Found myself wondering,
Wanting desperately to learn more…

© munster 2020
Views: 472
no comments or critique sought.
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