Easter Egg
Kingston’s bay, the sea was shimmering translucent green,
my ship was anchored there; saw the sandy bottom where
red snappers swam. An open chest of gold coins in the sand,
metal totally inedible, the invertebrates took no interest.
I thought of Captain Morgan and since it was Easter he had
gone away. Thought of calling our master and point to
the untold riches, but he was a man who never deviated
from his sea charts. Gold, Jesus, Capt Morgan and Easter,
no navigational points for him to focus on.
The shadow of a shark hovered above the treasure trove,
the sea darkened, wind blew from east, as currents whirled
and there were a draft from flapping, unseen, black wings
obscuring the anchor’s resting place.
Long Friday, the chest was buried deep in the sand, I didn’t
tell anyone, and we were bound for New Orleans.