A sea of brown beer bottles collected on the knife-scarred table
Like amphorae from a Greek shipwreck, swaying in the current.
He took another from the weary waitress, turned it up
And thought of clear water washing off a reef top after a wave has passed.
A couple danced over by the jukebox, not touching, swaying in rhythm.
He remembered a sea turtle fighting the surge along a reef wall.
But the girl’s eyes were distant and she held the sleeves of her sweater in her hand
Dreaming of calmer seas and a warm beach somewhere.
The noise washed over him and blended into a loud silence,
He could hear the hiss of his breath and the pounding of blood in his ears,
All alone in the crowd of brightly dressed people
Like hanging motionless inside a school of fish.
The bar, of course, was dark
Sunlight cannot reach into the depths.
The colors were warm -- brown of beer and wood
Only the blues penetrate.
It was time to go back to the boat,
He checked his watch,
Because he was afraid of the darkness,
He took a breath of staling air.
He rose and stumbled to the door,
He ascended with the bubbles,
And walked out into the crisp quiet night.
And broke the surface in dazzling sunlight.
Chris Palmer
1995