Achilles Heels

You’re sitting, legs askew

On the deck of a boat.

Is it the bobbing water beneath your gunnel

That is making your cling

With hands, skirt, lips,

That slightly forced smile?

And your feet,

Jammed into tight, white, backless sandals,

Like the cigarette jammed between your fingers,

Portray a woman unsure, unseen,

                                                   Grasping desperately,

                                                   Longing for dry land.

                                                   Vessel of a man?

                                                   Capture of a portrait?

                                                   A place to belong?

                                                  Not in this same boat…

                                                  Its unsettled sway finding its way

                                                  Into your knees, hips…

                                                  And the coat flung aside

                                                  Between you and the cabin below;

                                                  You’re jamming it down

                                                  With an angry heel,

                                                  Achilles fighting against the prevailing wind.