The Sailor

Summer is almost here. It is appropriate to read a poem I wrote in 1988 called The Sailor. It is at the beginning of my book, The Tollbooth.


It’s autumn, son, may we speak?

Certainly, father.

Your brother, you know, made much
money this summer
while you did nothing.

Nothing! What do you mean nothing?
Why this summer I sailed!
I sailed, father!

And my brother, you say,
made much money this summer…

Talk to him, my dear father,
and he’ll tell you,
with that money he made, he only
he only wishes he could sail.

But he can’t, father, you know.
The season’s past.

Winter is nearly upon us.

The summer is gone.

But I sailed, father!

I sailed!

John Feloni