Lost at sea, in a fog of stinking
Sorrow drifts a derelict boat,
Wreck of a bum sinking
Slow. Few remnants of thinking
Survive, to debris of memory cling afloat.
Cracked limbs hanging slump
From his hunched bulk.
Life-dreams die, in lumps
Crumbling his hull, clumps
Drying on the decks of a listing hulk.
To M.M., hope you’re OK now.
e.e. wilholt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/michael-going-down/
