A thousand cargo ships

a bored little poem by Fat Kev.

A thousand cargo ships
Transporting paper clips
A sailor known as 'Chips'
With a feminine air to his hips.

On damp and darkened docks
A consignment of odd socks
An auditor taking stocks
"Who's been tampering with the locks?"

The Captain in his vest
Can't find his Sunday best
"What is that mysterious chest?
That's not on the manifest!"

The Bosun at his stove
Hot lemon with a hint of clove
To the ocean depths he dove
For a pirate's treasure trove.

Though dying with a cold
He locked up the crew in the hold
And down the gangway he rolled
With Bluebeard's stolen gold.

As the auditor and Chips got fruity
The Bosun escaped with his booty
But he ended up in clootey*
For not paying the Customs Duty.



* A slang word that sailors use for 'prison'. Honest.