A never polished rivet
on a slip joint of the only bridge to mainland.
Each trip across
rattle.
A last rivet,
polished, painted; rot surfaced again
before dusk.
Everyone below decks!
Everyone below decks! the call repeats.
Hatches slam, crew scramble.
Sea rise. Enemy territory. We are not going back
for any reason!
Clear locks!
Clear locks! the call repeats
until each door is checked.
Senses dull. Antenna rise.
Red phone. And only the red phone.
Screens and arrays light.
Switches become live.
Practice and perfect.
Maps overlay,
gauges pin to their maximums, settle.
Every soul inside
breathing their prayer,
wheels rolling across the interlocking teeth
held by a cylinder of iron
at two miles per hour.
Have the engineers been out today?
Have they returned after the noon rush?
Why don't they weld it?
How long has it been?
Wonder it hasn't, right?
Below decks. Below decks.
I will get you through this.
Cruisers and bombers and mines and runabouts above.
Windblown sea below.
A rivet strains and fires a thunderous crack & holds.
