Somewhere between Blackbeard and Calico Jack

 Bedding every picaroon from Blue Moon

to some motel off the interstate. It’s loot

that gets me going: gold enough to make me

Midas touch myself, those human jewel-

thieves clogging with the searchlights

of Sing Sing. I’ll play warden, enforce

the auburn system so your silence keeps

us both in line.

The tide in eyesight, all your

mermaids throwing rogue waves

at our window; silly, willing slaves. They

only want your mars mascara-ed lashes

batting once for every inch of dick

you give them. My casual encounter counting

back from riches to the rags we wrapped

our shipwrecked selves in.