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  • The Executive OfficerAustralia, 1942
  • Michael Spence (bio)

The xo came aboard the submarine With me in Brisbane. I had never seen A man with eyes so blue. I tried to size The xo up as he asked the bosun mate On watch: Seen any Japs? The sailor smiled: Too late,Lieutenant. Guess we musta got ’em all—Nothing out there but mermaids. The bosun’s gall, I was positive, would bring a chewing out. Tilting his head, the xo laughed. A rout,Huh? Then I better tell the skipper to steerFor Hawaii. That’ll make the entire boat cheer!

Tall and thin, he was shaped like a torpedo, The crew would joke. He didn’t crouch low Enough to clear the coaming the first day. As I followed him into the sub, Lieutenant Clay Jerked and growled Oh shit! I saw him stagger Backward, rubbing his head. Are you all right, sir? I asked, feeling a laugh trying to claw Its way out. He nodded: Should be a lawAgainst a guy my height getting sentTo a vessel this small. After that he bent Sharply forward, head pulled in like a turtle’s As though the ocean’s pressure on the hull Was squeezing him.

      When a group of Zeroes attacked, The Dace had to crash-dive—taking the rampTo hell, the crew called it. The xo clamped His eyes shut and muttered: That’s how the molesStand it; they can’t see how tight the holesThey’re stuck in are. On the helm I wanted to hiss A warning to him, hoping the skipper would miss [End Page 57] Hearing him—too late. Releasing a weary snort, The skipper told a sailor: Please escortMister Clay to his quarters.

        The next time I saw him, the lieutenant was trying to climb The ladder to the conning tower while the sub Was deep underwater. I have to get off this tub, He kept saying. He’d drawn a small crowd By the time he descended. I thought he seemed more bowed And hunched, shoulders folded toward his chest. When I saw the distance in his eyes, I guessed Something was broken—as if their blue had drained Away through some fissure inside the man.

      The Zeroes’ depth charges shook All the words out of him. They took His will to move, making him so quiet And still that I thought an invisible net Had enveloped him.

      The Dace returned to port, With Lieutenant Clay on a stretcher (too short For his legs). I helped carry him off, cinched Tight as a torpedo to its rack. He flinched At the bright sky. Then I watched his eyes draw in The blue like dry wells refilling. That grin— I admit it made me glad he was strapped down: He looked like he wanted to eat the whole damn sun. [End Page 58]

Michael Spence

Michael Spence’s poetry has appeared in the Gettysburg Review, the Hudson Review, and the SR. He has new work forthcoming in the Hopkins Review, the New Criterion, and elsewhere. His latest book of poetry (his third) is Crush Depth (2009).

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