I could probably write something cliche about boats and going on journeys, yet often times the furthest we go is when our feet are firmly stuck to the floor. 


I held the fleet,

Admiral for a team,



Silver stacked

I sailed out

For climates

Warm in the eve,


Spied bright sands

And trees,

Trees deep-rooted,

Head of table-seated

I ate my scarce meals,

Kicking my legs,

Space to swing free

Limber in too-large shoes


You told me to change,

That I tread with a limp,

And really,

I had never been where I’d gone,

It was an act

A ruse

To escape off the bat;

I could never walk a mile


But nor could I further stay

I was away again, smiling,

Already seeing shores anew,

Many leagues of bare toes

And covered crown undue;

The door slammed, I adjusted

The brim exact


If the boot doesn’t fit,

Tell me why I can’t wear my hat



Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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