Almost two long weeks away.
Approach the door,
And let us pray.
Man, it’s good to be home.

Bathed in happy dog spit,
Just watch the floor
For happy dog shit.
Man, it’s good to be home.

Roll the suitcases away.
One thing we can ignore.
We’ll unpack another day.
Man, it’s good to be home.


Metal Tubes.
They keep things safe.
Cigars, for example.

My cigar is in cellophane.
Yours is in a metal tube.
Game over.
You win.

So, you would think
A metal tube would be cool.
Not always.

I was in a metal tube yesterday.
Two of them, in fact.
Now, I feel like death,
Warmed over.

If you have a treasured cigar,
Don’t put wings on its metal tube.
You will have a cigar with a fever.

Cruise Trip Blues 

to the tune of Frer Jaques

Not the flu,
Not the flu.

I am on the poop deck,
Looking for the puke deck.
Feeling blue,
Feeling blue.

Not the flu,
Not the flu.

Forgot to washy-washy,
Now my tummy’s sloshy.
Feel like poo,
Feel like poo.

Not the flu,
Not the flu.

Medical is crowded,
I ate what the crowd did.
Cordon bleu,
Cordon bleu.

Not the flu,
Not the flu.

All of us are leaving,
Hope that this is fleeting.
No more spew.
No more spew.

Dire Straits 

The Straits of Gibraltar
Should be quite a sight.
Unless, of course,
You cross them at night.

The lights of Europe
Off your port side in the night,
Africa is to your starboard.
What most people call “right”.

I suppose seeing the lights
Of two continents is romantic,
But I think I would prefer more,
After crossing the Atlantic.

Wondering why Cruise Critic
Is not set all aflame
With furious passengers
Who love to complain.

Lost at Sea

There’s a ship off in the distance.
Sailing westward as she goes.
We’re still heading eastbound,
As the time begins to slow.

A lonely ship is all I see,
There must be others keeping pace.
Just two ships in the ocean
Doesn’t seem a likely case.

I know the Atlantic is vast,
But I’m just a bit amazed 
How much time we seem to be alone,
While churning through the waves.