bubbles

when my ship set sail into the wilderness
of mysterious fishes and odd critters of the saline nation,
hardly anyone would talk to me.
i was too eager. too ready to show off my
keen biological knowledge and insightful
ways of observing fascinating zoological marine phenomena.
the other summer interns, were
much more relaxed about their job.
it was, for them, just a summer job,
not the best, not the worst,
and kind of an opportunity for
them to hang out with each
other and enjoy after-hours beer
and cards and talk.  i didn't
even drink back then. thought
it would be bad for me. also, i
was just kind of a naive goody-two-shoes.
i was just 19, an eager-beaver college sophomore,
deliriously happy with having a real
job in my chosen field: biology.
wow. and MARINE biology at
that. specialization!
wow! i thought this was all pretty dern great.
out on the water on a marine biology
research ship, watching
the giant net slide under the
surface of the water,
knowing it was gliding and banging along
the bottom, and watching
its contents get dumped onto
the sorting table: hundreds
of fish, sometimes thousands,
all different shapes, sizes,
and colors. and pretty soon
i knew the names of all of them,
common name, scientific name,
family, and genus, and species.
oddly enough, my growing knowledge
and quick mastery of fish identification skills
did not endear me to the other
summer interns. in their eyes,
i was even more "geeky," more
of a "hotdog," a downright
"nerd."
ah well, i was having fun
anyway,
and later, when i did get
a bit more relaxed, and
was having an actual
laid-back conversation with
the chief scientist on the
ship, a tall skinny 30ish
guy with a sexy demeanor and
sweet sad eyes,
just him and me talking,
mostly about science stuff,
measuring this, identifying
that. there was
nobody else around.
he drank beer after beer.
we talked some more, and, then,
all of a sudden,
he told me something that surprised
me, something that i've always
remembered. this is what he said.
he said, "there are really only two
things i like about being alive,"
he said, as he sucked on a
can of beer.
"just two things i like:
being drunk. and
being asleep. when i'm not
drunk, i want to be
asleep. when i'm not
asleep, i want to be
drunk.
those are really the only
two things i can stand
about being alive."
there was a moment
of awkward silence.
it was
late, nearly midnight,
the surface of the
sea slick
and cold
and
black.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)