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Castaways

“And just remember that housework really doesn’t pay...”
    ~ Pamilla deLeon-Lewis

While nothing was happening, nothing at all,
They watched fate’s wheels spin as though twilight should fall.
At last they set sail hoping fun was in sight
And wandered the streets through the cool, salty night.
The first mate and skipper were feeling at ease
Till marvelous harbors emerged from the breeze.
They looked from their viewscreens in time to perceive
A dancer whose moves they could scarcely believe.

She jiggled and gamboled to see if they’d try
The priciest O.J. that money could buy.
And next she cavorted and started to throw
Her blessings to merry young crewmen below.
Her face was angelic: her hair was pure white.
The first mate and skipper were moved by the sight.
Her silhouette stood; she eclipsed the black light.
She came to their table and grabbed them both tight
And begged one to stay with her into the night.

The first mate and skipper then struggled in thought.
They didn’t know who’d take the fish they had caught.
They bickered and argued; the larger man won,
Then off with his pretty catch how he did run!
He spoke to her softly for ages on end
Of all his ideas and her status as “friend”.
The dancer decided she’d stand for no more,
And so she closed in to make ready for war.
And when she had felled him he looked up to see
Her feral expression transfigured with glee.
She raised him back up with an insolent grin,
And over and under and at it again,
Electrified tracks called the racer to win.

He sailed away later to see her no more
Till someday he’ll find his way back to that shore
Where lovely ones cast away all of their fear
And fruit juice is costlier by far than beer.
The crew has split up now, or so it would seem;
The first mate and skipper who shared the same dream,
Though they’ll always know they’re a fabulous team,
Will speak of one port with their eyes all agleam
And turn away eyeglasses coated with steam.

    Written upon returning from a trip to New Orleans
    Having traveled with the idea in mind to race robotic cars competitively;
    But because what had been the official race team, for a short while, had run out of funds
    After a misguided professor had put together a class that competed with it, for those funds, for a longer while,
    Only to produce no working car despite his claim that his design was relatively simple and cheap (not very true)
    That his team was superior (they were A students being groomed for grad school, not folks happily building real things)
    And that he was appropriating money from the insubordinates of this rogue team (a designation readily adopted all around)
    There were no backup motors after the first two failed
    As expected because of a design flaw caught late
    With no money to correct
    Though the car ran nicely, for a short while, despite this setback
    The teammates seemingly decided in advance
    Figuring some cheering up was in order
    To leave the race as of its car’s inevitable death
    And take to the streets of the French Quarter.
    The above was part of the story.

Thanks always returns

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