Ferry life COSTA RICA

the deck was an amorphic mess feigning honesty. “common get real” the first mate pleeded. I couldnt hear his week urgings over the gelatonous ameoba on a fishermans hook “go ahead and use a loudspeaker” I tell him, “volume is for carpetbaggers” . gulls with no teeth cant lie on broken wings while flying, and even the blue picnic lights chewing the dark in big gobbs of bubble gum bear claws tearing bark from a a tree cant sound like nails on a chalk board no matter how hard it wants to make a liar feel welcome. random widths of steel, the slagged filet welds a chipping hammers distance away from pocked cavities the loose teeth dangling from nerves under the pipe rail like stalagmites everything that was pertend screamed from the bow. I screamed because everything about me was pretend, my quiet , my body sitting on the wooden slat bench a lie. I jumped up and paddle kicked the bow to face the port, the propellers started spinning, and I felt the brass slagged dagger dip into my head, as the rest of me banged the bottom, a dark blue eclipse passing me over underwater, cutting me off from the surface, cutting me off from the sunlight another time I cant breathe. I bobbed on the slat bench marking nowhere, the dark deck rocked under the diesel, lunging like a dodge dart with a slant six, banging around under the hood. jacked up chicken fighters, turned loose. two ticos purged each other with fuzeball and a tourists money belt, swigging beers and smilling at me in phonographic metaphors, sweet as caramel.