No One's Place To Say

No One’s Place To Say

We both sit still
on the same transfer
Lurching vessel it is
full of holes hidden
Not well, though ignored
As the sirens call out,
to abandon ship.
The thing is sinking,
very obviously sinking
But still we sit, eating
peanut butter sandwiches.
different textures of  bread
you  prefer smooth to crunchy,
but  end result are the same..
Wet shoes and sticky fingers
us in an upright position
on stained wood benches
that begin to splinter
poke at stubborn behinds
break into, sliding further down
with scrap once marveled at
for some reason or the next
crafted by those able
to add expensive jam’s
on simple meals for effect
creating nothing more
than a peanut butter sandwich
served one deck above 
resting in the same place
an endless ocean swallowing us all
and everyone should  hush now
while finishing dinner,
listen to the sad music
play a passing liner into its grave.

JDW©2012 3/8/2012