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The iron palace of electric light

steams into catastrophe and idiom,

a culture’s symbol of folly

and achievement.

The last, late sailing of the nineteenth century,

or the first of the next, it never arrives.

Unexpected, unheeded icebergs rise

from calm, dark seas.

The Captain loses face

and chooses death. The steerage,

having nothing to lose, gains nothing from death;

rushes from the vortex of the sinking ship

into frigid waters.



© Copyright David Selzer
1 Response
  • John Huddart
    May 14, 2012

    Many words have grasped the end of something that is the Titanic’s fate. We all seem to see ancestors lining her rails. But it was a quick end, and she was gone in a flash. These glimpses of its role and purpose, and the chilling futility, say it all. Why couldn’t the Fellowes fellow have made a series out of that?

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