Every summer my friends and I have a cabin weekend. And well, this poem is too good not to share- thank you talented Stephanie.
Friday Night of Cabin Weekend
(Inspired by The Night Before Christmas)
‘Twas Friday night of Cabin Weekend, when all through the house
drunken creatures were stirring, even some mouse.
The solo cups strewn across tables without care,
in hopes that tomorrow’s hangover would never be there.
Drunk children were nestled in overcrowded beds,
while tranquil visions of tubing floated through their heads.
And Sasso in her fire proof pants, and I in my umbrella beer helmet cap,
had just settled in for our 4-7am nap.
When out near the fire arose such a clatter,
I shuffled out of bed to see what was the matter.
Out to the porch, I attempted to dash,
swung open the door, and tripped over some trash.
The moon hung in the sweet summer air so aglow
gave the luster of midday to the mess that lay below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a majestic pirate ship, filled with kegs of beer.
With a smug, handsome skipper, groaned my liver organ,
I knew in a moment it must be Captain Morgan.
Quicker than reindeer, his winded sails came,
And he whistled and shouted and called us by name:
“Now Christiano! Now Pedro!
Now, Katelin and Laura!
On, Amy! On, Adam!
On, Melinda and Barbara!
Vodka parties on the porch!
Buzzer shots ‘til you crawl!
Now drink away! Drink away!
Drink away all!”
I thought “that weed must be laced,” to see a pirate ship fly,
but sure enough I tell you, this boat sailed through the sky.
So up to the roof-top the great vessel flew,
with its kegs full of beer, and Captain Morgan too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the clunk of his boots and knew this was no spoof.
As I took a deep breath and was turning around,
down to the deck, the Captain slid with a bound.
He was dressed in red and gold from his head to his feet,
his clothes slightly tarnished, but his appearance kept neat.
A full keg of beer he had slung on his back,
and a case full of bottles he began to unpack.
His eyes – dark but inviting, his smile crooked, yet merry.
The sword strapped to his hip, enough to make anyone wary.
At his wrists and his neck, shot out ruffles of white,
and the beard on his chin was as black as the night.
The gold of his earrings matched one of his teeth,
old but well polished, like his boot buckles beneath.
From his tri-corned hat to his hair long and wavy,
you could tell in an instant, he wasn’t part of no navy.
He stood very tall, built big and strong.
His face young but worn, he could do no wrong.
Our eyes quickly met and with a nod of his head,
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
leaving the keg and some bottles, then turned with a jerk.
To declare his achievement he lifted his leg,
his boot rested satisfied atop of the keg.
A rope fell from above and up it he climbed,
and as the ship pulled away, down dropped some limes.
But I heard him exclaim as he sailed out of sight,
“Happy Cabin Weekend to all, and too all a good night!”