Life Preserver

A man falls overboard into cold, choppy water.
The wake of the boat is steady and straight.
The waves lap over his bobbing head.
He treads water and strains for safety.
He motions to a deck passenger and yells "Lifesaver."
The man tips his cat. He acknowledges the message.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cylinder package.
His ruddy fingers unwrap the paper and foil. 
The candy has a hole in it. It is winter mint.
The passenger smiles and tosses a drowning man a lifesaver.
In the water, the man must now swim or sink alone.
The mint sinks with a flutter to the bottom and is lost.
The deck passenger walks along back to his state room.
He shrugs his shoulder at the drowning of a castaway mint. 
He has tea and television to content his passage.
The swimmer drinks the salty sea as justice.
He knows the meaning of the passenger's jest.
One must protect the power and play of words.
Carefully selected. They toss lifelines from ships.
Loosely grasped. They sink and dissolve into darkness untouched, untasted, undigested.
The man overboard swims to shore and remembers his sea mint.
He must voice his life preserver with care, from the soundness of shore.