Midnight in the mid-Atlantic. On deck. <br />Wrapped up in themselves as in thick veiling <br />And mute as mannequins in a dress shop, <br />Some few passangers keep track <br />Of the old star-map on the ceiling. <br />Tiny and far, a single ship <br /> <br />Lit like a two-tiered wedding cake <br />Carries its candles slowly off. <br />Now there is nothing much to look at. <br />Still nobody will move or speak —- <br />The bingo players, the players at love <br />On a square no bigger than a carpet <br /> <br />Are hustled over the crests and troughs, <br />Each stalled in his particular minute <br />And castled in it like a king. <br />Small drops spot their coats, their gloves: <br />They fly too fast to feel the wet. <br />Anything can happen where they are going. <br /> <br />The untidy lady revivalist <br />For whom the good Lord provides (He gave <br />Her a pocketbook, a pearl hatpin <br />And seven winter coats last August) <br />Prays under her breath that she may save <br />The art students in West Berlin. <br /> <br />The astrologer at her elbow (a Leo) <br />Picked his trip-date by the stars. <br />The is gratified by the absence of icecakes. <br />He'll be rich in a year (and he should know) <br />Selling the Welsh and English mothers <br />Nativities at two and six. <br /> <br />And the white-haired jeweler from Denmark is carving <br />A perfectly faceted wife to wait <br />On him hand and foot, quiet as a diamond. <br />Moony balloons, tied by a string <br />To their owner' wrists, the light dreams float <br />To be let loose at news of land.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-deck/
