Sailboating to Mexico

The sailboats were birds in flight
over a sparkling ribbon of water.
They raced to catch the ever-moving sun.
The air smelled of fish and water,
leaving its flavor in our mouths
and aching pangs of hunger in our bellies.
The sails of the boats appeared to be
brightly hued , massive flags suspended in mid-air;
snapping gaily in the breezes.
The gentle song of the lapping waves
lulled me into a state of nirvana and
the gritty taste of air was like sandpaper
brushed over my tongue, making me thirsty.

Yo no soy marinero, soy capitan.

Bo Jangles, Binkie Bear, and the rest of our crew
headed to Mexico on the waters of the Brazos;
all the while singing rock-and-roll hymns.
They weren’t really hymns-
more like songs of drunken revelry.
Our nights lasted until we were
chased to our bunks by Dawn’s first light.
Our shoes were safely stored away in cubbies
because being young and full of life,
barefoot was simply the way to go.
The clear skies of our minds finally became
clouded with excessive drink and herb.
We were as sober as the wine-o’s
who sleep behind the liquor store.

Our floating party was all that and a bag of green.

We cart-wheeled through purple clouds
and danced wildly on the surface of the stars.
Jenn was in the midst of all the fanfare-
taking mental snapshots of all the people
and experiences which cast their spells on her;
knowing that one day, these memories
would be all that remained of her youth.
They would keep her company during
the ear-splittingly loud silence
of her solitary existence in old age.
The rum helped me forget what I wanted to remember later.
The booze gnawed at my insides and
whispered inside my head, tales of invincibility.
And then, the coming of the sun prodded us
to seek the cool darkness below-decks