He had the look, the acrid taste.
Die hard lust for the sea.
Silver chantey, selling me —   Come to me,
Marry me.   Tarry!     Spring and fall with me

He’d shed tears when he told fish stories.
Tears when I called for a taxi!  Moody

Caster of coin, his net scooped me like a herring.
Silver tentacles too —    and tongue of copper
When he lashed those lips to mine.

I thought he was old enough, prime-seasoned.

Thought he would sa-vor me.   Save me.
But he wasn’t my old salt.  Sowed
his dry lot, locked himself in dry dock.  As I
floated away.