Captain, O’ Second Lieutenant!

It had to be in High School, high chair school, high chair, with a meal ticket, to eat, hot lunch, dietarily perfect, rather than PBJ, (peanut butter and jelly sandwich), two or three, though it was in “junior” high, of the day, on midnight high, “we” were introduced to Walt Whitman’s Captain O’ M’ Captain,

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
       But O heart! heart! heart!
         O the bleeding drops of red,
           Where on the deck my Captain lies,
             Fallen cold and dead.

The ship has weather’d every shitstorm, the booby prize “we” spit at, spot on, is won, the port is near, though a blear, a fog, an errant one, a silent night, our beautiful brotherhood of man, a slaughterhouse, collecting blood– for resale, bells clanging, calling affront, interruption of clot, forgotten nod, blindsided, WTF?