The Mad Drinking Harpooner
He grunted like a hog
His lips deep purple from the wet and cold
All his insides like burnt cinder
Gritty as sand
His tongue rolled out of his mouth
Like a dead bull in the arena
It is a terrible thing,
A Night’s long drinking; thus,
The youthful harpooner
Looked about for a drink of water
Found one, his mouth sizzled
Like a heated brick,
And like many a-men, like him
He died young—
(Right then and there; his heart stopped)
His head had gone round and round
His heart and soul deserting the ship
Slave to the night and drink
It refused to revive…
Ah, is it not true, youth knows not
Its capacity, nor is it
Undeterred…to stop!
Note: 9-6-2010 (No: 2782)
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