A child learned to make a
ship in a bottle
from his father
who was the king.

Perfect little ships in
perfect little bottles
sitting on a shelf
to be forgotten.

But the child noticed his
mother constantly looking,
touching their glassy shells
with cold, distant fingers.

And there was a knowing
in her eyes, and
a dread he could not place,
but he knew she hated them.

As he grew, he found himself making
perfect little ships inside
perfect little bottles that
he placed on shelves to see.

One day after arriving home,
he found the bottles smashed.
Boats laid on the floor and
his wife was gone.

She could not stand his
indiscretions on display.
Each bottle shoved tight
with a secret.

He quietly cleaned the mess and
placed books on the shelves,
which is what always belonged,
and the ships disappeared.