Archive
10/01/09
Bad Night on the High Seas
This Thursday night is a warm, swarming wind So rambunctious, tumultuous, violent, That as I sit on the patio at Cardwell's, in Clayton, I'm a scurvy buccaneer piloting a ramshackle sloop, On the eighteenth-century high seas, About to intercept an unsuspecting British ship Lumbering home, from the colonies.
Suddenly, a rude gust blows my glass off the table, Sends it crashing to the concrete ocean waves. Now, a torrential demon drenches me, Drives me and my duffel/attaché indoors, Where, for the next few hours, I'll ride out the storm, Swigging red-wine grog, straight from the bottle, Cursing the hardscrabble life of a suburban pirate.
10/01/09
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