It is hard to sail this dingy boat
on choppy seas.
My first mate and I speak different languages.
We come from the same small state
but cannot even communicate.
I’m thinking about water rushing in
on starboard side and the fate of going down, down, down.
I ask in simple English:
Honey, could you fetch me a pail so I can bail, a little water.
But all she hears, I swear I think she hears, is:
Did you see the mate that guy had back at Bimini?
Did you see how she moored that Rig?
Did you see her tie that bowline knot?
And pulled the sheets all nice and taut?
Man that guy’s girl was nice and hot.
As I’m waiting for the pail,
She hurls it for my head.
And the water keeps rushing in.