Hero's: Davie's Sail

CHAP’S TRANSATLANTIC SAIL     ©

April 2, 1976   Revised August 29, 2014

I was talking to a withered prune today about Chap’s pending sail across the Atlantic with two other landlubbers;

the prune shook his head and muttered:  “Stupid.”

I felt badly for this vestige of what might have been a good plum.

Another prune was told of the venture;

she frowned and belched: “How does he get the time off.?”

A lot of folks are shaking their heads about ole Chap.

“What would anyone want to do that for?”

“How could he do this to his wife and kids?”

“It’s so inappropriate for a man of the cloth,”

responses that have choked the life out of countless dreams.

But if anything happens to the “Yankee Doodle” out there in the bounding main;

if its splintered by the HMS Queen Mother;

if a killer whale torpedos the hull or if a 150 mph wind blows the boat to hell,

everything will be just fine.

I suspect that those taking potshots at Chap sold their souls to the devil too far back to remember.

The devil said: “You have to play it safe”; they believed her-

now they have dull, shitty existences with no fizz left.

Maybe secretly they looked at Chap and their dreams were almost rekindled,

but it was too late;

they’re imprisoned and that’s the way they will die gang.

So, sic em Chap.

Go get em.

Give em hell.

Waves. Westerlies. Whales. Great Whites.

You can do it.

When you return in glory we’ll down too much Maker’s Mark and laugh about your “high deeds in Hungary.”

Let the prunes keep drying, and withering.