USS Little Rock

I lie here on the naked bunk,

stained and narrow, of a sailor

who may now be alive or dead.

I  stare up at the rusted coils

lashing the upper bunk in place,

as he must have done sometimes,

and listen to the dull, hollow

churn of giant engines below me

in the dark, vibrating through

bulkheads and down corridors,

and fill my head with thoughts

of him, who called this home,

and what kind of life he lived

between metal walls and

in cramped metal cubbies

in service of a sweet dream.