A tale of a dance that can never stall

 A tale of a dance that can never stall

With tired eyes,     

He searches through the night

His sight becomes lost 

Between the sea and the sky

Breaking the horizon,              

A tiny boat appears       

Splashing on the foam,            

With no sign of fear                

It quickly darts                 

By the starboard side,        

Surfing on the waves,            

Like a playful child.                   

The stars are now watching,        

How it jumps up and down,       

It looks as it’s dancing 

It seems very proud

The wind pushes it,               

And the sea is not calm,            

But a lee is being made                  

so it comes alongside.

Hands are grabbing ropes, 

Feet are stepping up.               

It’s a dangerous climb!          

But our man makes it safely,         

This one more time.

Away goes the tiny boat,  

Making its loud roar,               

Which is its own way 

Of saying good bye,  

And in just an instance   

Vanishes in the distance,

rIght from where it came 

Between the sea and the sky

From the weather deck,   

Up our man goes more steps,        

he is young but he is panting,

So he makes a pause

To regain his breath                     

Wel---come Mr. Pilot!                      

A foreign voice breaks out,           

then bathed in dimmed lights,  

Two figures shake hands

Though still with tired eyes,   

Like the water on the lee side,     

 the Captain seems relieved,       

He seems to feel better

But, is he really calm?

The bridge smells like coffee

And to the recently arrived 

A very large mug

Labeled PILOT on the side 

With much deference

Is immediately offered

They bring him some papers

Which he kindly declines

"I will sign those much later"

And with solemnity

 the Captain then adds

"You can take my word

She is OK, "She IS ALL FINE"

The Pilot takes the conn,      

And starts to sing out loud          

at his very own tone,

(like I am doing right now 

In writing this poem)        

Between sips of coffee, 

His well learned old song.

But she is a proud, vivacious lady, 

Not willing to abide. 

He wants her to starboard  

But, to his surprise,  

She recklesly slides 

Towards the other side. 

Starboard 10

Says the Pilot,

To the man at the helm

Who looks kind of sleepy

(He's been yawning all night

But is not to blame

The poor guy worked all day

doing rope splicing on deck)

He shifts the wheel to twenty

At the pilot's request

But this attempt turns out 

To be also in vain

Then from slow ahead

The telegraph rings up a bell

She still pays no mind

And keeps swinging like hell

“Steady as she goes», 

Would be an useless cry,  

«hard over, hard over», 

Oh no …no, no, NOOO!

The pilot is screaming

(But only in his mind)

A strong bitter taste

Has formed in his mouth

He sips some more coffee

And  swallows it down

(He pretends not to be anxious, 

the way he’s been taught,

to keep his composure,

 no feebleness show )

She starts to come back

Though she is coming back slow

  

The pilot grabs his radio

 and squeezes it hard

He knows he'd better talk

With the guys who are on duty

At Harbor Control

And emulating a calm relaxed voice

He stutters  and mutters

the following words

“hey guys, could you p..lease, 

Could… could…could y..ou,

 could.. you se..send me a t..tug?                                       

With her bow and her "hips", 

She keeps  teasing the banks,

¡It doesn’t look good ¡

(But he wouldn’t admit )

With upmost disdain,

and dignified arrogance

(As if he was related 

to the British King)

He reassures the Captain

bellowing his tone,

"WE ARE OK….ALL is FINE”

Though he battles and strugles,     

(while he sips from his mug),

with the engine and rudder     

Just to keep her on track.

A few minutes later, 

With a firm, gentle hand 

She is grabbed by her shoulder 

By a small, strong lad

(Which is run by an expert

I can tell you that!)

And then.....

With the a sutil grace  

At the Pilot’s commands, 

She is forced to engage

In an old, ancient dance.

«Come ahead, push to port» 

"Now pull back"

Goes the song,

Then it stops for awhile….. 

And if she doesn’t respond,             

He just orders the lad:     

«push ahead with more force!       

With more force,  

JUST….. PUSH…..HARD

Oh! The mischevious lady, 

After putting a fight,

All of the sudden,                           

 has decided to dance!

But the Captain’s been watching

With a watchful dog’s eyes

And he doesn’t look happy, 

He is a short- tempered guy

 (one can tell by his face,

that's a SMIRK, not a SMILE )

 with a strong, heavy voice

he pulls out his rank

and decides to demand 

«with HER Mr. Pilot, 

-You BE GENTLE, BE KIND!

then to a whisper he lowers his voice, 

and in a more humble tone,

 persuasively adds

" Well you see Mr. Pilot, 

she just came from the drydock,

Where her hull has been covered

With two coats of white 

and the agent confirmed

that the owners are coming,

they'll be there when we arrive"  

In a convincing manner

(He's been trained to do that)

comes the Pilot's reply

(After sipping more coffee)

Do not worry dear Captain

"WE are OK.....ALL ...is ....FINE"

As they enter the basin, 

(where the hall becomes wide), 

They slow down in their pacing-, 

And they sway…

An exquisite, elegant  sway,

Like a boy with his girlfrend, 

In a sweet summer walk.

At the end of the song, 

As they finish the dance,

She lands on the dock, 

With such tenderness, 

Just like on a rose 

Alights a butterfly.

Ropes are run ashore, 

«she is secured», 

Someone shouts. 

(Such a fine spectacle, 

and not a single applause?)

While the sun is now rising 

With its glimering lights,  

Pilot and Captain, 

Exhausted perhaps, 

Stare at each other,

And like true gentlemen 

 Very proud, with great honor, 

Once again, shake their hands.

They say good bye as heroes

Unsung heroes they are

But had anything gone wrong

they'd be looked upon

Merely as villains 

of the worst class

This is  the dance of the ports, 

Of the rivers and lakes, 

Of the channels and locks, 

It’s the dance of world trade

It’s a very old dance. 

It’s the dance of seafarers

Of the vessels that carry

Across all the oceans

The goods that we need

If we are to survive

It is best danced in peace

Though in WAR is also danced, 

There might be a WORLDWIDE DISEASE 

But this dance.....

This dance cannot stall.

........

Captain Ricardo E Caballero

Panama Canal Pilot

2023-

Copyright