How proud your colors once – now tied in baling wire, bleached grey weathered tatters dangling.

Captain, my captain, your hull is torn, black bottomed asphalt weighed down as the Forest calls you to water.

Anchored on cinder blocks, your sails hang in rags. With Mushroom sprouted barnacles, you await the dusky leaf sea.

You are beached, broken, sinking slowly in suburbia.

Shipwrecked.

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Finding an old sailboat parked by the side of the road, her best years behind her. I see abandoned and broken cars all the time – never boats.