By: Michael Mulkern

Here we are, and there is nowhere to go
The veering wind brings gray to the stars
Quickly upon us a storm will blow
As reported: nine eight two millibars

It comes on quickly, and whips up the seas
Waves build into an unstoppable force
Spray fills the air, and begins to freeze
Relentless, thrashing, it has no remorse

In the violence of it, there’s no way out
The only option is to travel through
No turning back, and no time for doubt
Steady resolve was the response of the crew

The price of failure, they knew the fear
From the helmsman tightly gripping the wheel
To the engineers watching over the gear
And to the machinery, welds, and steel

Failure would be disaster in a second
As those broken vessels beneath them well know
Their rusty stanchions reach up and beckon
“Will tonight you join our crew and cargo?”

I tell the devil “Perhaps, but not now”
And while he cackled, he thought I was glib
And I don’t know why, but he left with a bow
Maybe he liked the cut of my jib

A crash and a bang, another big swell
Icy tendrils of spray grasp at the ship
Neptune pulling us below where he dwells
Yet we break free from his watery grip

There! Could it be? The barometer moves
Thirteen millibars, the wind starts to wane
Just a little, just enough it improves
The savagery calmed to just a light rain

At last, we are released by small degree
Who would believe this escape from the hells?
For what does a landsman know of the sea?
Or of the power of fifty-foot swells?

It matters not, and a bluebird day dawns
The weather report states, no more lows
Any signs of the struggle are now long gone
So follow the track, steady as she goes