Master of Compromise
I’ve been sailing this ship
Named Compromise, amok.
Twining into far horizons,
Scraping paint off destiny,
Buffeting my way across
An otherwise still mass
Of cool, clean water.
Lurch again! Another landfall,
Skidded, unreliable – what the hell
New found land is this now?
Sleeping, dulled under woodchip,
Catacombed, marooned on patchwork,
Beached in history, a test case
Of the burbs – electric light Pompeii.
© PJ Nolan July 2005
Wine tourism spain short story / Flash competition - Interesting flash fiction competition that's free to enter. How would aliens react to wine? Would wine play a role in the way that aliens perceive Earth? ...
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