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My Days at Sea
- University of Pittsburgh Press
- Chapter
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My Days at Sea We arrived in the middle. “Excuse me,” someone said, “That’s my mattress.” The slight was unintended, But it stuck. “If you’re truly offensive, you don’t care What day it is,” a woman said from the dais. She’d been on the dais all day, Her white eyeballs Boinging in the spotlight. We listened and were silent little bodies, Thinking of the fine breeze That had followed us most of the way there. Soon each of us thought of many offenses. Like when someone said to me, “Around here we put toasters on little girls’ heads To stop them from growing.” “Of my days at sea,” one of us said, “What shocked me most was the exceedingly casual way In which large craft loafed about the broad Atlantic.” We’d had enough. Outside, rain sneezed complacently. The streets filled With the umbrellas of our rivals. ...