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The Worthless Son-in-Laws
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New York Times
They work hard in Lyttelton Harbour
Where container ships roll in their berths
And the diesel smoke flows from the tunnel
He supposes it could have been worse
He thought he might see seven wonders
But mostly he saw seven seas
And the bottom of the bunk above him
And maps marked with depths and degrees
In the evening, he leaned on the railing
And watched the world move beneath him unchanged
He made friends with Russians in Sydney
He danced with Brazilians in Rome
He fell in love once in Dublin for most of a week
And anywhere was more or less home
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He scrawled on the pages of sketchbooks
Where he graphed out his 'grand unified'
But one warm night out on the Pacific expanse
He dumped them all over the side
He lived such that nobody noticed too much
He kept to his place in the line
But one day he sent off a letter
That got published in the New York Times
The New York Times
The New York Times
The New York Times
The New York Times
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