Our ship of state is listing hard to starboard.
Too much cargo shifted to the right.
As officers dissemble, we get worried;
Not land or help are anywhere in sight.
The captain twirls coins between his fingers
Demanding berries, choosing who to blame.
The boatswain’s on his knees up on the prow
Trying not to hear; he says he’s praying.
Our mast with flame atop leans hard aside,
And hot air rising fails to fill the sails
As dark tides pull our foundering vessel backwards
And constant waves swamp valiant trys to bail.
A mutiny could haul the ballast back still,
‘Fore pirates plunder all of it away;
The rats whose greedy chewing loosed the cargo
Would likely jump to find another day.
She’s a sturdy boat–good bones, we say.
Designed and built to keep us safe and sound.
But we need more than boasts of flag and cannon:
A crew that will not run our ship aground.