Twisted Poem-“Regatta”


Don’t hold your breath waiting for more poetry.

There’s a Regatta Today

 Copyright 2012 by Russell R. James


Beneath the waves a dark form swims,

trailed bubbles in his wake.

Black Santa sack across his back,

deliveries to make.


A blue hull looms with daggered keel,

awaiting his bequest.

His pulse goes fast, his eyes go wide.

The object of his quest.


Fingertips touch ice cold hull,

and buff away some slime.

His watch’s hand is nearing twelve.

He’s almost out of time.


No moment to anticipate,

the tasty treats to be;

those just desserts and sweet revenge,

and corpses in the sea.


All those aboard would nevermore,

raise noses as they pass

the clubfoot boy who, on Dock C,

pumps septic tanks and gas.


A present comes from out the sack.

Homemade ones beat the rest.

Gunpowder tube, with cell phone fuse,

sealed tight as Timex’ best.


The boat will soon be in the Sound,

tacking ‘round Buoy Eight.

Crew unaware a single call

will seal the doomed ship’s fate.


Epoxy glues the gift in place,

the boy swims off aglow.

The giving’s only just begun.

Still seven more to go.


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