A cook at sea

The sea is restless and white-crested
It moves the ship up and down and sideways
Broad legged the cook tries to keep order
With dancing pots and pans.

He dreams of roses but is surrounded by steel
He knew of better times, south America.

The cruel tempest starts after lunch
When in his bunk tries to sleep but is tossed about,
He has been on his feet since six o’clock.
Hopes the sea will calm before the evening shift.