In passing

by Matthew John Bosisio

 
It was but a dot in the sea, yet oddly
distinct as we flew over it in
our haste elsewhere, a
dot shaped like a
backwards
comma,
alone
on a
page,
lonely
in its
smallness,
but big enough
to strand a pirate
who had crossed his
mates, the captain handing
him a day’s rations and a pistol
with a single shot, there on the dot,
left on his own, the clipper ship hoisting
its wide sails and drifting, drifting off the page.