Mayday! Mayday!
The ships going down!
We suspect foul play,
Or some “boom-chicka-wow-wown.”
Ship going down,
This is island command.
We’re all on our lunch,
So we can’t lend a hand.
Island command,
We’re now sunk in the cape.
I hope we don’t lose
The “boom-chicka” we taped.
Sinking explorer,
We copy again.
We’re sending a team.
They’ll be there in ten.
The fruit loomed above me
As I Dockered the ship
On some Banana Republic
That smelled of Geoffrey Bean dip.
I rubbed my old fencing wound
Out of sight of the fella’s
That I got when I failed
A parry with Ellis.
The weather was silky,
A tres Calvin Clime,
And this old Navy man
Filled his coconut with lime.
But after I’d dithered
For three stanzas or so
I purchased some stuff.
That’s how shopping trips go.
The Daily Travesty 