Crane’s “The Open Boat” went swimmingly.

The only named man died.  The captain

Bossed everyone else around.  They

Still called him ‘sir’.  Funny, the traditions

We hold on to, even in a dinghy, even

With the phosphorous of a shark fin

That visits nightly.  The captain held the water jar.

Maybe that was his job.  The jar survived

When they went overboard.  The correspondent

Rowed and slept, rowed, and rowed, the cook

Bailed and slept and slept and slept

And talked about ham sandwiches

Much to the oiler’s dismay.  The oiler’s

Name was Billie.  In the end he ate the sand-wich.