Fellow Traveler
We none of us go
swimming anymore,
Some swear they met
an unknown woman there;
She bade them join
her, but some ghastly fear
Made each one
hesitate, and back away.
We’ve fewer than
one hundred on the ship,
There are no
strangers after all this time,
And yet two members
of our crew have gone;
Their clothes
discarded, scattered by the pool.
Last night a lake of
water blocked the hall,
Too wide to jump,
but I forbore to wade
Across; I turned to
leave and felt a hand
Upon my ankle;
wrenching free, I ran.
Today one more of us
had disappeared.
How long before we
all are dead and drowned?
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