The Word for Hunger Sounds Like Femme

(1796 in the Sargasso Sea)

The stars return like life itself but pale
Before the eyes among the nearly dead
To hush the swagger in the old salt’s tale
Of whiskey, whores, and harbors still ahead.

Nostalgic now, he sings “La Marseillaise,”
But neither flag nor happenstance may grant
The crew full speed to coral reefs and bays
Off Florida to find the scurvy plant.

Each day, I know, she fears the widow’s walk
And seeks the church instead to visualize
Our fate in spite of idle tavern talk
As having found safe harbored paradise.

The word for hunger sounds like femme, Mon Dieu.
I hunger for her all the while and pray
Faith, hope, and love rejuvenate the few
Who stand or feed our souls to pass away