Jonas, the Cook.

Met a man in a bar in Kingston, he told me of Jonas
the merchant navy cook’s, demise. Late at night leaning
on the railing, looking at the stars Jonas’ ship lurched
and he fell into the sea. A good swimmer he floated on
his back and continued to watch the stars, thought they
were really close, to dawn and found he was so close to
a tiny island that he could wade ashore. Looked up and
saw a vapour trail and was hit on the head by a block of
ice released from the plane. The man in the bar, who had
come to the island to live alone, buried Jonas, a cross,
of driftwood on top, which reminded the loner, life was
to be lived elsewhere, so he sailed back to the mainland;
only knew it was Jonas when reading about the missing
cook; never told anyone though, thought it best that way.