tied on two ends
to one of the remote docks
is an old orange ship
rusty in most places
old and creaking
against the waves
created by the lively wake
of living boats and ships and yachts
no one goes out
to the old orange ship
her name is worn
off the side of her hull
no one knows the name
of the old orange ship
she just sits, rocking,
rotting and acting
as the secret home
of stray cats and seagulls
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