Blackbeard Visits Sandy Hook
Bushmaster, not blunderbuss,
154 shots in five minutes.
bodies heaved upon each other like ballast
polka-dot oilcloth coats with what look like cigarette burns
The cannon he had on the Queen Anne’s Revenge,
filled with balls of lead, nails and glass,
could do this damage, but slowly
and seldom children.
Wandering the coves of North Carolina
he saw mysteries: two-headed turtles,
a ship whose crew disappeared in the mist.
He thinks of the buried treasure
no one has found — doubloons
down in a coal-black warren.
How many lives unsaved, prayers forgotten
because young men are searchers?
He wonders what this lone pirate
stole as he flew through the building
taking no prisoners,
not the teacher on the toilet
not the smallest soul under a desk,
not the principal with a finger on his jacket.
Eventually the armor wore so thin
that he could attack himself.
On Ocracoke,
there is no thunder as loud as this one
the lightning never lasted this long.
__________________
Maggie Rosen