Brief, Bad Poetry

Upkeep
 
I have three women in my life,
Cassandra, Adra, Hope.
They all need more attention than I can conjure up.
Hope is rotten, but Adra nearly fixed.
Cassandra sits and drifts alone there in her slip.
Her lines are slack and cobwebbed,
her motor baking in the sun.
I wonder if I ever will see the poor thing run.
I haven't spent and hour in more that just this month
doing more than making sure the pilings haven't rubbed.
I miss her jaunty burbling,
I miss the feel of wind.
I wonder when I'll have the time to sail my girls again.



Daysail

There she sits, you eye her over.
You know those lines, touched like a lover.
The cool smoothness made you shiver,
in every inch which you uncovered.
You hoped to touch, to love and mind
her every mark and metal fine.
But life and time have not been kind.
You have only now to spend, two hearts, two hands, two faces
then you go off, now on your own, and her to other places.
The moment fleeting, where truth and dreaming mingle,
one moment in a day you didn't feel so single.
You smile without thinking, her visage in your eyes, the adventures you had hoped to have...

But space and time have not aligned and this is all there is.
So take today and sail away and know what it is to live.