Forty one found me
In midday reminiscence –
Not at the bars in Fredericksburg
Where 21 arrived like a proud, aggressive fleet,
Setting sail against
Easily conquered oceans.
Accurate charts assured my hands,
My future lay
In neatly mapped seas,
Measured leagues in quadrants,
Latitudes, longitudes.
Distant shores seemed
Vulnerable to my every effort.
The water that night
Was a kind of golden bronze,
The cheap, sweet beer
Of the college junior.

Forty one arrives
Where compasses didn’t predict.
Octants are confounded and
Sextants equivocate.
All the almanacs agree
Only that we are at sea.

© Eric Robert Nolan 2013