Night Ferry by Ann Howells

Seals see us off, myriad tiny faces
pop from the water,
their long bodies glide – sleek black streaks
as they circle the boat, curious 
as to what these silly humans are doing now.
They see old friends come to see us off
on our new adventure.

We are invited to the captain’s cocktail party —
special guests. Our expectations are low, 
but stewards in starched whites pass canapés, 
fill champagne flutes. My sister 
leans her head to mine, How do you tell the Purser 
his fly is open? 

We do not perceive ship’s roll 
till quite pronounced; bridge tour forgotten 
we cling to rails, stumble on truant sea legs,
stewards aiding the wobbliest among us. 
Inside, our stateroom spins with disorientation 
and champagne.

Yaw tips us pillow to footboard, but fails 
to spill us out onto the floor. Silently, 
we thank engineers who aligned bunks cross-ship. 
Landlubbers, weary but trusting, 
more than a little tipsy, we are rocked to sleep 
across sixty miles of tumultuous North Sea – 
Orkney to Shetland.