what good comes of goods
Our chartered ship was sinking fast; the five of us aboard. Yet every one of us could live, with all the goods we stored.
❝ Rudderless, then cast adrift; the hull ripped on a reef. Our safety and our property were lost to coral thief.
I saw no shore, no desert isle. No rescue was at hand. But the first mate and professor, swam to distant land.
❝ The skipper buoyed between his men, eyes darting anxiously. He seemed to act with planned intent. In truth, unconsciously.
Create a fire once on the shore. Shelter and fetch water. Write SOS with weeds and rocks Salvation Or Slaughter.
❝ Keep calm, find food, and plan escape. No need for much shelter. We’ll not accept a lengthy stay. Escape is in our nature.
Still I drift upon the waves and cast no foot ashore. No strength to save all of our crates. Might rescue one, no more.
❝ I say we take compass and map, the chocolate and pistol. Bottles of rum are safely stored somewhere within the middle.
Please help me tow this crate ashore. Tarps, rope, knife, and mirror. Matches, dry clothes and old paper. All useful and familiar.
❝ Instead we took my crate to shore. The map and compass—useless. Chocolate’s hunger and rum’s anger made the pistol ruthless.
Dry and warm, we could have sheltered and waited for our rescue. But five becomes no one to save when pride is all that guides you.
