Uncle Might Sing
Bo Wielders
Uncle Might Sing
Monday night I imagine that my unknown uncle is a sea shanty singer. He works with twenty fisherman on a boat somewhere up north near a village that holds the name of Nothing. For over 58 years he has the same morning routine. He warms the inside of his neck by drinking strong tea. He swallows his bread. He thanks his throat. He washes himself and the cutlery from yesterday. I’m not sure if uncle likes being a seaman but he likes being a singer. I ask uncle to take me offshore. He nods.
I.
Leave with the gulls and hold your gorge
All sung with an old mouth’s morning
II.
Another fish has fallen
Flat on the floorboard
With bloated eyes
Come looking ya all
Come lock ya arms
The gill kill gone gutsy
The gill kill gone wild
Who gave her
That wound there
Who gave her
That slash gash
Who buggers off
Who brings the hive
Our knife, your tummy
Her lady, her lad
There is dough in thy day
There is murk where you lay
The gill kill gone gutsy
The gill kill gone wild
Our knife, your tummy
Her lady, her lad
III.
Now that
The dust of dawn is gone and fat
The deck shall shawn be flames
My friends
Feast fast, feast fine
A sodden soul is warning us
Another ship has gone
For a rich folk's wage
For a well-off wine
For phones with feelings
And a hard man’s howl
who wouldn’t exist
if not for the sound of it
who even exists
if not for the sound of it
My friends
Feast fast, feast fine
The dust of dawn is gone and fat
The deck shall shawn be flames
IV. Once, flanked by vessels on either side
Once, waiting for someone else's adventures
Once, on a fake vacation with a real person
Once, looking at a touch-screen fish-finder with chart-plotter
Once, the empty joker
Once, the drunken cook
And again, the one on the floorboard
The one with all her boyhood in the store
You, adequate city-slicker
Nothing is here
And Tuesday will collapse on you