Aboard the Juventud, I stand at the bow, by the foremast.

The first knots feel good. I’m twenty again.

I am DiCaprio, Marco Polo, and Jack Sparrow.

I am full of hope; I have great expectations.

I’m the hero Conrad was saving for his final work;

death took him before he could tell my story.

I gave Vasco directions as we shared a cerveza

on the terrace of an inn at the port of Vila do Conde.

My crew and I are en route to Madagascar

via the Cape. In our hold is precious cargo:

three hundred casks of vintage port

to trade with Saudi princes for palm-shaped islands.

The men are in good spirits, eager to sail

the Indian Ocean. They’re already talking about

the monkeys and felines that roam the tropical forests.

They say the most common monkey on the streets

of Antananarivo is the lemur. The cabin boys

will fear them. They will buy amulets at the Zoma Market.

Some will… “To your left, you can see the island of Capri.

We will soon be disembarking. Please, stay

seated during the maneuver, and enjoy your day.”