I went out on the deck—felt the wind before the jibe caught the blow of a vengeful breeze. The keel visibly surfaced two feet below foaming water, in awkward lean. Water marks on the board, as visible as eye could see— Oh shit! I braced myself against the rail leaning on tippy-toes in the opposite direction.
I went below. I rocked, and balanced myself with each swell before the waves, catching myself with arms extended against the polished teak walls in the bow;
I recognized, remembering the keel’s markings— of my life and against the rail, being driven across the reef of tomorrow.
I shall grow old— as sea mist foams in after life