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.
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