Thalassophobia
Just the mention of ocean
sends me clambering up telegraph poles.
I'll do anything not to wet my feet.
Though I very often make
the compulsive error of
falling into breakfast with him.
Afterwards despite sandbags
of cereal boxes and coffee
creamers on the table,
the torrent sweeps away
everything in its path.
Stranded in the cold sweat
of waves, I watch him
through near asphyxia
make fast for coffee,
take in milk with light bran,
raise the mainsail
of the morning paper.
When he retrieves the anchor
of keys and sails out the door,
I find myself suddenly
becalmed in ebb tide.
© 2004 Arlene Ang
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