Alchemisland

This river a custard-covered rope we’ve been asked to climb up

Ship’s pilot invites me to call him Mike, he’s got a line of dots

Running from his neck down his spine, signifying with which tribe

He’s in alliance, he drives, smokes, swears and swats away flies

They alight him long enough to survive, then return undisturbed

After our first day’s travel we’re all yapping, backslapping

Clapping each others’ ribald anecdotes

The Captain takes off his hat, he’s bald, and greatcoated

Before long he’s coaxed into going

And getting the good stuff stowed in his cabin

If not now then when? He’s not in the habit

Of taking orders from his crew but to be killed by bandits

Without a drink in hand is a sad prospect indeed

The bottle is handed around three times before only dripples leak out

We tease each other with horrifying tales of drowned men

Who seek vengeance on the living; they say a driftwood plank

Floating along a river touched, by one finger only, is enough

For the trap jaws to snap shut, the demons who lust souls

And must bloat on carrion are carried by the curse-harried

Candidate, who at once feels their load overample

A sensation of being strangled, the lowered angle of elevation.

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Seated at table for a stately plate, those who’re able their fills take

Salted hake, immortal madeira cake, baked Alaska, brittle meringue

With xanthous custard nice and chunky, bread for dunking

A flask of mutton stock, stuffing, a sprinkle of loathed rocket

Hunger has certain number of our party in such states

One asked for his parents today, I had to slap his face

When his visage raised his eyes held no rage

No roulette wheels out here, I insist we bet using metal counters

Even though we’re stranded like Crusoe I’ve got a lot to prove

I stand pat at your moves, check raise you, lad

I win the bric a brac equivalent of a fifty stack

We’ve got no dank loud packs but at night

We hear packs of rabidloud monkeys on the strand

Shifting the sand with their mad Kipling passage

Baring teeth savagely like Pelasgians striking Medusa faces

Tonight, our first Greek tragedy

The youngest lad sent up to the ship’s attic slipped, fell off the ladder.