In staunch refusal I determined another hour at an otherwise grisly helm
    Fixation waxing upon whisps of the wind in so many tails of encroaching mist
I strained at the glass to discern such matter, one not fond of a Nantucket clime
    Suddenly overcome sober and taskdriven in the Mexican Golfo by a Cape fog roll

Its cerecloth embraced her, captain and sail alike – end to her weigh and wake
    Humid linens now hung loosely, surrendering their last luff of breath
Ghostly visages, testament to their own irony and the winds once there inhabiting
    Tuxpan shall wait for her lover, his arrival as certain as the intervening sunlit mornings

A sounding of shoal alarm dispatched the night calm, offering its unwelcome Siren’s Song
    Hastily I turned over her engine and dropped sails, scoffing at the obscure line of horizon
Mere curio from within Promixa’s ruddy abyss eventually gave way to a shimmering light
   Entreating arm of Eleleth it lay there; a phantom wharf, messenger without message

Pass as it may and pass as it might, I determined it pass by mooring that night
    My aged lines were but fresh manila, compared to her ancient wooden plank and cleat
A finger pulled on each topsider, protecting otherwise bewildered feet from splinter
   Their steps intoxicated by means of the spectacle in tawdry clapboard which lay before them

With her moorings all set and an ease of the back I searched its once impenetrable depth
   Endless ties of grey board gave way to stair steps broaching a rocky shore
Whereupon I glanced a lighthouse and light I had not noticed before
   This islet whatever, bore occult method in introducing its natures to be sure

Coalescing from the fog, emerged an old man, peculiar commensurate with the night
   He strolled with purpose, but neither haste nor concern
“If you have a moment, what island might this be?” I issued to belie a stifling apprehension
   He continued his unnerving stride as if in hearing nary a word said

“What have ya’ wares wandering sailor?” he greeted
   “Well in as much I am in trade of goods, I had rather in my mind Tuxpan as port of call.”
“Tuxpan… Bermeja’s a might long reach from Tuxpan ‘wog.”
   Before I could issue protest, he sat upon a nearby bollard and began to speak

     Each tick o’ the clock is Ol’ Sam’s torment, ‘twon’t be long now
        
         Those vaults which are constantly filled does their currency ever fade
         A greater illness hunts those who seek no illness at all
         The perpetual victim schemes tirelessly to inculpate their oppressor
         Access to performances is metered by those who cannot perform
        
         Equity is that which is apportioned by those who cannot measure
         Equality is demanded by they who wish no equal
         Egalitarianism is imposed by those of the highest caste
         Truth has become the destination which possesses no journey
        
         The weapon of supreme destruction also holds its wielder hostage
         The lowest of character is that which is held as moral mandate
         The only profit-earner is the one who bears neither product nor risk
         Those who were asked to serve have been taught only how to rule
     
     Regarding the time to come
        
         Consolidate and you will lose everything you hoard
         An efficient sword will result in efficient death
         Power and capital shall be as church and state
         The Royal will bear their naked costumes as a sole inheritance
        
         There is always a hidden Royalty – serve them no more
         Wars are endless sport between dark hierarchies – refuse their deployment
         Loan to a fool and you inherit a fool’s wage
         Work will attract stability while enslavement will attract flies
        
         Innovate and success shall be one’s journeyman
         Value will produce good will
         Risk will flag value’s destination
         Those who guzzle from wealth’s midst will do so without slake

     For come again are the days of ‘Napishtim, drunken on loosh and crossbreeding
        The swift shoes of Sabaoth light upon the veranda even now
     He rescues his lover before the hungover ranks of her captor can attempt launch
        What was of value before, will not be valuable after

My head spun with confusion and disdain. After what ”twon’t be long’?
   Speaking in parablem, apothegm and song bore offense to my shellback credential
Further then the feckless errand of introducing uninvited flummery to strangers
   That a vagrant and waif kept light at this islote Bermeja was the least of my discoveries

Renewed winds slapped main hoist repeatedly upon its mast, and at once I found myself again hove-to in hapless seas

For no sooner had I felt this islet with my very own feet, than did feverishly scanned charts aver no such feature
   Its evanescence ever fading, almost as if erasing, from my certain yet uncertain mind
I gazed back upon leftwake to witness nothing but the ocean and the departing dread of darkness
   Tied down the mains’l, unfurled the genny and fell off to a run tack anew, heading Key West

The Ethical Skeptic, “Incidente en La Islote Bermeja”; The Ethical Skeptic, WordPress, 11 Feb 2020; Web, https://theethicalskeptic.com/2020/02/11/incidente-en-la-islote-bermeja/