SHIPS FOR ME.

I want to be on a sailing ship, a sailing on the sea,
With my old fish bowl, small dog and slow north
Breeze;
Going to sail on down the ocean lock, out to
Oceanography,
And I won’t rock the boat or I’ll miss the reality.
Navigate her round Muroa Atoll, by the Melanesia
Cape,
Barracuda and French men fleeing from oncoming
Waves.
I’m going to find the best place for me to get
Anchored,
Going to drop the anchor over,
And sit beside the rainbow’s end catching gold fish
With my dog Toby.

Then in the morning with nothing caught I’ll sail
My ship on home,
Where Labour works all day to justify its
Chromosomes.
Into the dock and down the wharf by all the agent
Men,
Where I’ll spit on them and stick my line and berth
Me once again,
And then go around the lock control room, and tell
Them what I think,
Throw an old brick thru their new sluice
Controls, and watch the whole goddamn town sink.

And by the time they have realized what is
Happening to them
The bottom will have fallen out of their default
Regiment.
The stevedores will stop their drinking and take a
Hurried look,
And when they see their shores no more will utter
“What the Fuck”
You see they’re alright Jack, know what I mean, the
Union’s got it sowed,
Work three hours of overtime and say it’s eight is
What we’re owed.
So I’ll kiss them and their practice so long,
And like a lone flotilla,
Sail beyond their shanty songs and become my
Own top billing.

And in my boat I‘ll pass their quays with water
Everywhere,
And they won’t see me and ain’t that grand and do
They even care.
Say I used to live here where work was inclined and
Auctioned in a mart,
‘Spect it’s the same all over this great land, with
Greater counterparts.
So I guess I’ll keep my soul and sail, and drop my
Anger over,
Sit up ‘till the fish return watching the world with
My dog Toby.