The Pirates Are Drunk On Rum Again

Autumn Equinox.

Opiate full moon.

We just underwent
A Hell of a storm
That came upon us fast
And of the fury
Of an unpaid
Drunken whore
From Baltimore.

The sails came down
Right quick
Just in time
Before wildcat winds
Lightening
And fierce water
Could cleanse
The sins right out of
Us fuckers.

The crew was a hard, ragged bunch
But they came down
From the rigging
Looking yellow
And a bit soft.

It was a bloody bitch
That poured more water within
Than without.

We did the proper thing
And waited it out
Tossed around
Below deck.

It was as good as time as any
To bond with the dogged company

So
I stepped out of my quarters.

They had made some headway
Hitting on Turkish Black Gold
Harvested in Malwa
By local Indian chiefs.
We so elegantly confiscated
The opium from the
“Syed Khan”
A clipper of 300 tons plus
Built in Bombay
And sunk by us
Off the coast of Portugal.

What a day that was.

The mongrels had also tapped a barrel
Of smokey caramel rum
That we had honestly traded for
In San Juan.

The party was underway
As the sky
Unleashed the devil’s bladder
Upon the seasoned wood
Of this fine ship.

There was gaiety down below
As Billy Two Thumbs
Pulled out his fiddle and began to play.

He was called Two Thumbs
‘Cause that’s all that he had.

But he could play...

And there were times I wish he didn’t.

Sometimes he could play well
But
When he played bad
Well...
I didn’t have an ear for it.

But the temporarily abandoned crew
Liked it
And Two Thumbs was off on a bender that night.

The situation was well out of hand.

There was a lot of merry making going on
That a captain
Just stepping out of his quarters
Might not want to be gifted to see.

Sweaty men
In different stages of undress
Singing and dancing
And holding each other up

Mind you
These are ugly one eyed bastards.

As the ship sat there
In open waters
Spinning around
I thought in earnest
To turn back
To the velvet confines
Of my quarters
And work on charts again.

Alas
Instead
Being the leader
That I’m celebrated for
As well as a team player

I made my way through the revelling
Drunken, stoned, sweaty men.

I even gave Two Thumbs
A pat on the back
As he chorded something
That sounded like a dying whale.

I made straight way for the barrel
And poured a long draw.

It could’ve been
The motion of the ocean
Or the coarse thought
Of passing again through
A gallery of souring mates

But I held onto that barrel
And I drank
The maple syrupy elixer
Slow cooked over a fire
Aged for fourteen years
In 17th century port wine barrels

Matter of factly
A gift of the gods
If you believe in that sort of thing.

I don’t.

Sugarcane on the brain.
Feeling no pain.

I took a pull on the hookah
As the hose was passed to me.
The screeching fiddle disappeared
And I noticed that the rain
Had stopped.

There was still distant thunder
Other than that
I could hear the quiet of night.

I grabbed a tumbler of rum
And stumbled on deck.

It was an eye-catching sight.

It had cooled off considerably.

Full moon.

Lightening flashing everywhere.

The ship was lost
A bobber on the water
Meditating
While the frivolities down below
Grew louder and more vulgar.

I sat down by myself
Under the direct weight of the Equinox moon
And watched the bright flashing cracks
Skip across the sky.

The music got worse
And I closed my eyes.

The rum and the ocean
Started to rock me
And I thought if any of the crew
Were to come above and find me passed out
They were sure to piss on me.

Pirate tradition.

My eyes opened and closed slowly
Taking in that magical display of night

A gift of god
If you believe in that sort of thing.

I don’t.

The rum and the ocean
Closed my eyes

Myself knowing
That high noon tomorrow
Everything
Would be back to normal.

God help the fuckers
That piss on the captain.

If you believe in God.

I don’t.