Cold Sailing

Kidnapped from my busy life

I find myself prisoner on a run-down ship

adrift in a cold sea of crumpled tissues

rocked by squalls of wet sneezes

wracked by shuddering coughs.

The skin around my nose has worn thin

and crackles with a glaze of dried salt.

I cower in my berth,

baffled by a turgid industrial dispute

which has put all services on go slow.

Every time try to I speak up,

demanding some normality,

my voice sounds strange in a new way.

Peering through the bleary porthole

I scan the horizon for some sign

of healthy life, preparing for escape

by emptying a raft of little bottles

down my swollen throat.