The Captain lifted anchor, daring thunder
and loosed his steam on stationary shaft.
He planned a voyage south-a-ways; down under
in his expensive yacht of shallow draft.
At dinner time he hailed the chef “Luigi”,
“it’s time to drop the pasta in the pot.
I need to build my strength. I hear, in Fiji,
that girth and manly size count for a lot.”
The crew was lazy, leaving work till later—
their sleeping skills and loafing to refine.
Thus, when the yacht approached near the equator,
there was no swabby set to gaff the line.
The equator upon the bow was captured
and through the miles and lonely night was stretched
till, suddenly, as if he’d been enraptured,
the Captain, to the Bering strait, was fetched.
Arising to the call to eggs and bacon
the Captain halted fork enroute to mouth
his eyes beheld the view and he was shaken
for he had traveled north by steaming south.
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