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We were perishing in the mysterious
down-under ocean.
Steep seas began to sweep
away
deck chairs, boats . . .
As the ship slumped into the dark
we turned to eachother and slowly kissed
In the hold the prisoners howled and shook their canes
We saw the captain pull of in a small boat
Screams, the sounds of blows, a ring of shots
We kissed; behind your head-
your curly head-
up went the beautiful, useless, disaster flares
In what intimacy we were left to go down!
- Boris Poplavsky (1903–1935)
