The Mohune Arms
She does not want another tagliatelle day
so when Blind Pew offers a simple map
to pay for the bowl of squid inked pasta,
the rum baba, the room to hide - she asks
What shall I do with a drunken sailor,
so early in the morning?
This map's too pretty with those island palms
and blue lagoons. So where's the stinking swamp,
the tangle of coves and wrecks, the dank caves
where marooned men will crave for coins and cheese?
Blind Pew is snoring, dreaming of treasure.
She holds a rusty razor that purrs for him.
She's shaved a few non-payers: Israel Hands,
Jim Hawkins, Billy Bones, Benjamin Gunn.
What shall I do with this drunken sailor,
so early in the morning?
7 Day Search
A map of Monday.
A sonar sounding Tuesday.
An ancient sea chart for Mercator's Mercredi.
A distant radar blip on Thursday.
An atlas of the frailties and follies of Friday.
Global positioning and Sat-Nav for Saturday.
Sunday finds me at home amongst the contours of a comfy old Ordnance Survey.
That's my week - mapped out.
