Metal groans as the ship’s belly
rips open to allow the sea its space.
A tender hull is no match for an explosive
It takes a feint from shore, some little
baubles to draw attention
to disorient leviathan.
Down in the mud of the seabed
among the anemones and sturgeons
the ship’s doctor tends his crew
with blue lips and swollen bellies,
adjusts dosages of bitter medicine
and hands out sterile bandages.
Pride of the fleet
Forever now shipshape
in the space between
air and flood
sky and wave
alive and dead.