A Sinking Ship Won't Get Very Far

For every hole that I patched 

on my little yellow life raft,

the dried rubber tore in two new places. 

Not only was the little raft 

slowly and steadily filling with water,

but for every two rows forward of mine,

you rowed twice in your own direction. 

Facing directly away from me. 

So I rowed and rowed and rowed 

with all of my might,

until my lungs wheezed in refusal

and until I wondered

whether the dot on the horizon

was even real. 

We were thrashing at the water

with so much futile exertion,

and going nowhere. 

So it’s time to realize

that a sinking ship 

won’t get very far.

I’m better off jumping out 

and floating my way to shore.