SEVENEXPRESSISHMAEL

On Wednesdays and Thursdays I take the 7 all the way to Flushing from Times Square. The trip takes a good 40 minutes, but it provides me with ample time to devote to my studies and staples of fiction like Moby Dick. This poem is a result of that compulsion.


Call me the pilot of my commute in the belly of the seven
Call me something indicative of my milleau, but that also harkens
Call me the customs agent of the feminine ingression
Call me harpooner that sleeps with his implement
Call me mutiny on the high seas of the Queens elevated
Call me pressure dyspepsia as the express barrels
Call me the plaudits of the wake of silent seas
Call me jocular recluse: a farm christened, Arrowhead
Call me unclassified tendril on terra firma, an abomination!
Call me superstitious seaman in the same way that astronauts are superstitious
Call me Knickerbocker Clancy, South Pacific de la Carre, proto-Kipling
Call me pulpo, ink of the octopus, Squid Bic, a stylus named, Lance
Call me epic tome, didactic almanac, critical rubble
Call me alcove throne, carrying a sundry solace like a dromedary
Call me passed over for promotion all my lubber life
Call me paperback flagon of symmetric, synthetic poetry cabernet
Call me Captain Apeshit with prosthetic pinepeg
Call me the whirled woods of Woodside, Corona Park, or Kissena
Call me pip of mongrel caste, Admiral Deep Pockets
Call me windlass of my lector time in the ratchet of Jonah’s gaze
Call me capstan of the stand clear of the closing doors intercom command
Call me something you can make more fancy by adding an e
Call me the great, white whale of Shea Stadium
Call me todos los mamones que van al U.S. Open in boat shoes
Call me pelvis of the world, Ambassador to Foam, Prince of Cetyology
Call me late for classes at library school on the frigate, U.S.S. Marm
Call me “dismemberer of my dismemberer” with the tact for tit for tat