Must Be A Carnival

I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member. —Groucho Marx Adventure is just bad planning. —Roald Amundsen Must Be A Carnival Lady, what did you see advertised? Boat leaves the dock. Your apparel, a shock. Going cruis’n…cruis’n you say. No time to be lose’n. Lady, did you pack light? …for romantic nights. Take a peek out the window. It’s after dark. Tourists, look a bit screwy, you’re near. Must be a Carnival, it’s not. This ship is a swing’n. Everyone’s going out for some drink’n. You weren’t expecting hot chocolate. Your Summer dress blow’n in Alaskan winds. The cold wrapping your legs sans warmers. Your sandals flopping upon the deck. Lady, people are staring. Have you beamed aboard? Did someone blindfold you? Were you buffaloed? Petunia, are you dense? Pretense, that you are at ease. “I meant to dress this way.” or perhaps it was a dare. Daring for sure. Lady, the ship looks a bit lopsided, with you.