It's not too late to jump ship
Metaphorically, I've done it before
Fourteen years ago on this very same ferry boat--
But in the opposite direction
The sky above is a slate gray, the ocean equally opaque
Behind, the mainland has disappeared
Ahead, there is no horizon
I am in limbo
Sling an albatross around my neck
Toss me a U.S.S Titanic life preserver
Call me Ishmael
My six hundred dollar Italian sunglasses offer no protection
The old woman feeding the gulls bits of puffed cereal is on to me
She steals glances as she slowly poisons the birds with green clovers and blue marshmallow diamonds
I recall vague urban legends of pigeons and Alka-Seltzer
I envision the gulls exploding in masses of half digested sugar and feathers
The thought does not displease me
I feign interest in the solid gray mass of clouds and water off the starboard bow
My disguise has failed
I can't make myself taller
I can't hide the cane that has become my third leg since the shooting
I can't erase my picture from the front of the Boston Globe and New York Times
"Scottie? Scottie McAllister?"
I cringe, the childhood name piercing me more than the bullet did
The Jig is full of ghosts
Unfortunately, most of them are still alive
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