The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck
Loosely based on Felicia Heman’s Casabianca. Luckily she’s not around to sue me. 🙂
The boy stood on the burning deck,
And thought it rather queer,
That the boats were just a distant speck,
And the crew were nowhere near.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
With a parrot on his shoulder,
He wished the floors weren’t made of wood,
As his boots began to smoulder.
The flames rolled on, he would not go,
Without his Bunty Annual,
His favourite tape of Status Quo,
And Skoda owners manual.
He called aloud, “Say, Father, say,”
And hoped that he was heard,
“It’s the second watch I’ve done today,
Is it flat or time and a third?”
“Speak, Father,” once again he cried,
As he beat upon his breast,
“The chips are very nearly fried,
And the crab’s not even dressed.”
Upon his brow, he felt its breath,
Then flames licked at his knees,
Boiled the lobsters all to death,
And overdid the peas.
He shouted but once more aloud,
(Circumstances of the loin),
A falling spark from the topsail shroud,
Had set alight his groin.
Flames wrapped the ship in splendour wild,
From stem to stern ablaze,
The boy stood sipping Watney’s Mild,
And humming ‘Purple Haze’.
Then came a burst of thunder sound,
The boy shrieked somewhat louder,
The flames had scorched the keg surround,
And set off all the powder.
With crest and helm and pennon fair,
Strewn from crest to crest,
The boy sat darning smoking holes,
In his socks and thermal vest.