I’m skippering on a broad reach,

  the wind’s whisper morphs into a loud hollow

in the slate grey sky.

“The boat is at 50 degrees!” A.K. blares,
  the hull molds full of cold icy lake water.

The main comes bolting about,

 “ Dang the boat tacked it self,” I holler.

We jump to the higher side of the roaring boat,

hike off the edge of the boat,
 and pray.

My legs slide, we’re hiking almost parallel to the water,
  hanging on for our lives.

Our aching legs tear free of the padded strap keeping us alive,
 slowing becoming submerged.

My head rapidly goes under the cool water,
 seconds feel like minutes as my bulging life jacket lifts me.

I emerge from the darkness,

I see the  boat resting on her open stomach,
she’s met her inevitable demise.

I swim to the submerged small blue 420 sailboat,
 but the waters fight me.

The current pushes against me as I yank myself in the boat,
 the water still won’t give up its fight as I yank AK in.

The waters fight continues as the main sail belts across the boat,
we yearn to get to shore,

but the water has other plans for us.