Pirates

Nothing but eyes. Eyes wrapped tight
In black cloth. Painful eyes
Hard to look at.

Do they make reports
To a pantheon of gods
As we watch from binoculars?

Surely it is some strange call.
They pass the cell phone
And hold minute debates.

Soon they will steal to low decks
And scatter among the freight,
Brandishing kaiser blades.

But for now they are waiting,
Bobbing in their skinny wooden dowels
That rock in the mint tones.

Steven Blythe