I hunger, I crave, for ‘nother dispatch,
A cabled missive from my brave sailor,
Yet to return home from his latest catch,
Aboard his captain’s rickety whaler.
Three months past their expected arrival,
Two since th’ onset of the stormy season,
Gambles them away their chanced survival,
By daring Ocean’s wrath past due reason.
O, scripted musings telegraph my pain!
Transcend all science, and reach him, post-haste,
Bid him: return, quit thine catching campaign,
Warn him: needless greed begets needless waste!
Letter starved, that, my current condition,
Made whole again by thine swift remission.
G. E. Hernandez