Sardines…

Sardines brined and packed

inside a tin can, separated

from the life we once lived.

The ocean calls, go forth!

The klaxon rings as the tide

catches fire and runs red.

“War, boys! This is it!”

This is what we’ve waited for.

This is what we’re trained for.

Rockets glare like comets

streaking across the night

as the tin can bare’s its teeth.

Then, as the shore shimmers white,

with fair winds and following seas,

each sardine walks his own plank.

Still brined, but no longer packed

inside the tin can. Yet, still separated

from the life we once loved.

Genesis:

I have always said the thing I hated most about serving in the Navy was being deployed and the thing I loved the most about being in the Navy was being deployed. This poem is birthed out of that oxymoron.