All Astir

“Call me Ishmael.” The only thing I can
remember as I drift off to sleep. My
mind wanders into my own stretch of sea,
one far away from thoughts of Melville
or The Whiteness of the Whale. Crash! Splash!
The waters rage and shake around me,
pulling and pushing my shaky boat, all
cheap plywood, broken table legs,
and Elmer’s glue. And off in the distance
I see the objects of my foreboding! Floating
among the word-filled waves are
the names “Ahab,” “Starbuck,” and “Moby Dick!”
The infamous, droning sounds of
repetitious Loomings and Lee Shores
echo in my mind. A wild rustling
and shuffling stirs my senses, the desks
are as empty as the vast oceans. I raise
my head, lift my book, and set sail for home.