the hail of cannon fire
rocked the deck
the smell of copper
filled the air
the scream
of the main riggings
drowned out by the screams
of the dead and dying

the captain shouted orders
as plumes
of black smoke rose
from the english ship
the red coated soldiers
clung desperately
to whatever
they could find

the crew
let out a cheer
as the enemy sank
to davy jone’s locker
fresh flesh
to feed the circling fins
to appease the superstitions
of a life of danger

the damage wrought
from combat was patched
the scooped up enemies
conscripted to piracy
or faced with keel haul
tied up and drug along
the barnacle crusted
belly of the ship

and pinned to the table
in the captain’s quarters
by a rusted dagger
lay the treasure map
by the nautical star
they followed across the blue
they would be there
within the week

the english fought
and the bastards sank
to rest in the briney deep

one ship left
to sail towards the edge
to find the treasure they seek