A rope stuck out of the sand
on a forenoon Sunday beach,
pulled the rope and up came
a schooner. Her captain had
lost his right leg and his first
mate had lost the left, joined
together by missing limbs.
They spoke as one and had
the same wife, the cook,
an ample lady with diamond
rings on her fingers and love
bites on her shoulders.

I boarded the schooner as she
drifted to the middle of the bay
and they began setting sail,
asked if I could join them, on
their voyage to the Caribbean
sea, but no “You’re our dream
it’s time for you to leave, besides
you have needs; we’ll send you
a bottle post when we dock in
Kingston”. I looked towards the
galley! “No’ they chorused
“That’s our wife.”

Swam ashore, turned and saw
sails disappearing into a cloud.
Fancy that, to think that I’m
a dream and they are real.