Jack, his reel


To the left of the door and pinned to the wall
is a photo of Jack de la Rue

and there's smoke in his glass and oil in his eyes
and his hand hides the Martinique jewel.

The next year his voice came from thorns in his throat
as he rolled out the tale of his oath:

he'd promised to love this wild girl from the town
'till the bottle delivered them both.

So he pressed the old emerald into her hands
and he told her that it was the sea,

and that it would consume all the stuff of their life
in its slow, bitter twist of degree.

Well she took it and brushed it all over his neck
as she spoke through the grid of her hand,

said "if the old rotting sea has a claim on your blood
let it take you right now and be damned."

the picture's still there but Jack sailed to the north
and he froze in the hard glassy waste,

and the Martinique jewel is still hid by his hand
with the smoke and the oil in his face.