The Sea Looks After Its Own
Poetry

All in all, things were looking dicey
for the last few lobsters in the tank
of the first-class galley on D-Deck.
The king and queen were long gone,
removed and dispatched to be served with Heidsieck Gout Americain Champagne.
The royal guard had been routed,
scooped out of the water yesterday,
claws clacking ineffectually.
When today’s lunch and dinner service
took the rest of the brightest and best,
their small world was a bleak place to be.
But the high priest never lost hope
and shortly before midnight his prayers
were finally answered by an iceberg.
The sea always looks after its own,
he could be heard saying, years later,
at award dinners and jubilees.