SHIP LOG

The top-note of my burglar alarm
Tripped more than sprung
By the fat toe
Of some jaundiced scofflaw
Decked in the soiled garb
Of a post-modern buccaneer
As he topples with what sounds
Like a caterwaul over a gargoyle’s
Detached head. Yes, a gargoyle’s
Detached head which, decorating
My front lawn, almost stands in place
Of the flamingo that to sink
Some drowned point home
Or further fuel my anger,
My ex-wife paid some flame by blowjob
To set match to a pile of my best-loved books.
And that I should be painted ‘crook,’
Blacker than the rook-bush and scruff
of this Captain Blackbeard.
Yes, this Captain Blackbeard
Whose head I’m stepping off
My own deck now to royally disembark.