Friday, April 22, 2011


All that was left from the shipwreck
was a tin of caviar and the wine.
A bottle of the grape and a can of bait.
You hated the taste of the caviar,
but the fish it had lured to your
make-shift fishing pole were a treat.
All you could eat until the can was drained.
For an ungodly reason, you kept the cork
intact for a special occasion, and today
was that day. The day you lost all hope.
The bottle popped with a resonance that was
a perfect counter point to the waves lapping the shore.
A sip.
A swig.
A gulp.
That label read "Ch√Ęteauneuf du Pape, 1951"
Probably French for "Water from 1,951 Sewers".
Your inebriate binge lasted long enough
for you to scribble something on the back of a leaf.
You stuffed it into the bottle.
Your last will and testament.
All your worldly possessions.
An empty tin can and your father's watch.
You heave the bottle into the surf and watch it bob,
praying for death to rescue you. Your coconut just stares.


  1. Laughed at the Sewer's line! :D I love the curt ending, beautiful imagery Walt.

  2. I miss PAD but it is fun to post here and glad I found you. You are so clever when you are funny, like this poem. Also love your serious poems too. Glad you joined us at Poet Rally on Thursdays!

  3. the words in this one is divine.
    keep it up.

    welcome back to us.

  4. stunning piece.

    your words are creatively beautiful ...


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