POST

What if your soul was a boat

And you a passenger who,

One day, is asked to join the crew 

In some odd capacity -- bos'n, say,

Or purser or third-ranker? The captain

(Did you expect they'd make you

Captain? You don't even know what

A purser does nor why he differs from 

And mortally fears the supercargo)

Nods to you, distantly. That this

Is your soul cuts no ice with him.

You're assigned a hammock near

Where the ammunition's kept

Just aft of the lateen mizzen

Surprised to find your soul carries 

Large supplies of powder and shot.