I have never been yachting in the Caribbean
or on any sea for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in June or any month,
have I had the pleasure–if it is a pleasure–
of yachting in the Caribbean.
I probably never will.
You see,
I love the sea.
Every ocean is alluring.
Every crashing wave
retreating
pulls me in.
I am more likely to be found
diving in,
falling in,
sinking into its depths.
Just the smell of salt water
puts my body on alert.
My toes wriggle, groping
for the feel of sand between them.
My skin prickles
for the sting of sea water.
My body aches
to float on the high waves
and to let them take me
out to the Bermuda Triangle,
across to the Mediterranean,
south to the Indian Ocean.
That’s the thing with me.
I want to be in the sea;
wet and prickly,
getting pushed
and pulled about.
Sitting on a yacht,
high and dry?
That sounds like torture to me.
(Inspired by “Fishing on the Susquehanna in July” by Billy Collins; read it at http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2008/03/22 )