Sitting still on his ship, its tip brightly lit, its jib tightly hitched, Skipper Higgins rides the wind and begins his trip.
Filled with quick wit and glib quips, he is easily the most prized chief.
The skinny type with a big appetite, Skipper Higgins sets sail to Sicily in search of its wines and fine cuisine. On his wishlist: thick slices of sfincioni and dishes brimming with linguini ai ricci!
Being on his ship has its limits, a gin tonic is a thing, but no binge drinking!, he chides.
He’s giddy, a bit tipsy, wouldn’t mind a light meal of fish and fresh squid if his fishing line is with him; but for now, it’s milk and biscuit.
Briny breeze tickles his chin and bird chirp reminds him of sleep, so Skipper Higgins takes a quick dip for a swim and stirs ripples in the sea.
His kitty’s whiskers twitch sensing the shift of wind. The ship swirls, the jig tilts, but the rest is fine it seems. So serene, it sends Skipper Higgins adrift in dreams.
Past midnight and the next twilights, he still does not blink a bit. Clearly he has missed the ports of Sicily.
Better still, the wind is bringing Skipper Higgins and his kitty to Fiji.

Tribute to Christian Bök, Anothony Bourdain, James Kirkup and Arthur Rimbaud. A loose attempt of vowel poem.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *
photo courtesy of bernard, taken in waitomo, new zealand.

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