The improbability of our meeting:
Nothing but blue and
A dark dandruff of metal and men
Full horizons apart.
I was on a skive during downtime.
Nobody would look
Below the busy moon-pool.
One hatch to fresh air.
Armed with a decoy Stilson spanner,
A token to appear busy,
I slipped below to a calming sound of
The soapy waves hushing.
Gently against the rig’s fat, red legs
The waves stroked.
I sighed and inhaled deeply as I
Climbed down the rusty rungs.
A shin’s length from the blue I sat,
The smell of salt pervading,
Content to be a solitary figure
Drinking in the day.
Then you arrived to shock my senses:
A sleek head, like a puppy
Wearing a wetsuit broke the surface,
In your mouth a meal gripped.
Two hours chopper flight from land!
How could you be?
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