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The Second Voyage

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by Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin Odysseus rested on his oar and saw The ruffled foreheads of the waves Crocodiling and mincing past: he rammed The oar between their jaws and looked down In the simmering sea where scribbles of weed defined Uncertain depth, and the slim fishes progressed In fatal formation, and thought                                             If there was a single Streak of decency in these waves now, they'd be ridged Pocked and dented with the battering they've had, And we could name them as Adam named the beasts, Saluting a new one with dismay, or a notorious one With admiration; they'd notice us passing And rejoice at our shipwreck, but these Have less character than sheep and need more patience. I know what I'll do he said; I'll park my ship in the crook of a long pier (And I'll take you with me he said to the oar) I'll face the rising ground and walk away From tidal waters, up riverbeds Where hero