First the poem, then the explanation.

Bridge Hand

 

A crew of eight; a sea of red.

All hands to port, then full ahead.

Off the banks and the shoals are tight;

drop anchor when the dock's in sight.

 

Hard to starboard one man sails,

bearing straight between the rails.

Crossing the bar where the breakers spread,

sailing alone on a sea of red.

 

 

 

     A few weeks back I was imbibing at my favorite watering hole (as I am wont to do) and I settled in to watch an evening of pool played among a group of eight divided into teams of two.  I noticed at some point that seven of eight were left handed.  I understand that being a southpaw is not unusual but, I thought, seven of eight people in the same group must be somewhat rare.  I then tucked that thought where I tuck away such things, and resumed watching the games.

     Not long after, I remarked to myself as one of the players was attempting an extremely long shot, that the distance to cross between cue ball and target ball covered a lot of red.  "An ocean of red," I thought, which immediately retrieved my tucked away bit and I realized there was a poem hiding here.  Indeed, there was, and after researching a number of nautical terms the poem revealed itself.

     Read it again, keeping in mind it is describing a game of pool.  You might need to find the definitions for a number of words if you are as unfamiliar with sea faring language as I.