This might be the calm before the storm
or this might be the storm;
some are sunbathing on the deck,
others huddled inside keeping warm.
A contagion of rumours spreads through our ship,
mutating with every forecast;
some wonder who will first walk the plank,
others argue about who should be last.
Some see an iceberg on the horizon;
others believe it’s the light –
that a new day is dawning, full speed ahead,
we’ll soon leave behind this dark night.
There’s grumbles from some who are making complaints
this was not advertised for our cruise;
the orchestra in the restaurant
is still singing the blues.
Though all disagree, each is convinced,
as the waves continue to roll,
our ship would surely be safely in harbour
if they were in control.
There are those who have said the Captain is dead
and have looted the ship’s supplies,
launched the lifeboats to make their escape
but all of them capsized.
Some still have faith in the Captain’s hands,
steady as she goes;
they’re drinking martinis in the cocktail lounge,
not minding which way the wind blows.
I’m here rearranging deckchairs
and everyone’s wondering why,
but I’m not in the hurricane;
you’ll find me in the eye.