Salted breath

                                                       

                                                       

                                                       

   In a side-ally bar in a no-name port sat an old sailor of the seas. He perched himself on a wooden stool, same stool sailors before him sat and spun their yarns.

   Looking out of a porthole window, he looked upon the row of landlocked vessels resting in wooden cradles. All but forgotten now except for the sailors who sailed them. He served on several of these once fine ladies whose colors are faded and planks doomed to rot.

   He takes a final swallow of swill then a slow, unsteady walk down the alley into the shadows of his destiny. To a place among the giants of yesterday where he will draw his final salted breath.

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