Fun with Black Ships

Fun with Black Ships

Most of the officers were afraid to speak to the press.
Which was to be expected considering newspapers weren't invented.
It took weeks to entice the men from the lower deck.
All those drums added up to little more than a fake tan.
Of course, no-one dared breathe a word to the Commodore.
Frustration already threatened to shred whole forests of diplomacy. 

Shiny buttons were a harsh introduction to the art of diplomacy.
Demands were made, but the interpreters were reluctant to press.
Of course, no-one dared breathe a word to the Commodore.
Instead they faked blueprints for gadgets not even invented.
Negotiations took long enough for the gunner to work on his tan.
He used ropes to scare children into thinking snakes lived on deck. 

Rumours soon spread that the ambassador was shuffling the deck.
Dint take t'savages long, quipped the gunner, to sniff t'fart o' diplomacy.
Sensibly, tongues were bitten on the subject of his tan.
By now the children were ogling sketches of a prototype printing press.
Guaranteed to touch these shores no less than a year after it's invented.
Of course, no-one dared breathe a word to the Commodore. 

Of course, no-one dared breathe a word to the Commodore.
Ship's log, a thousand-plus pages, recorded all incidents both on and off deck.
Historians bicker back and forth about what facts were invented.
Example: The Islanders Are Not Savages: clearly a flourish of diplomacy.
Not to mention farming exaggerations such as the steam-powered rice press.
Anyway, the wives soon grew bored: they had fish to gut and backsides to tan. 

Village girls sneaked on deck to see for themselves the gunner's tan.
Of course, no-one dared breathe a word to the Commodore.
The gunner suffered rum sweats and challenged fishermen to bench press.
Stronges' bloke 'ere can tek t'lass of his fancy b'low deck.
Officers and village elders were now a few bottles deep into diplomacy.
The ship's cook was spellbound by a dicing technique a local woman invented. 

At last, shouts bounced down the hill when the diamond mines were invented.
The Gunner was distraught about the hours wasted on his tan.
Pistols leapt from their holsters: a kick in t’solar plexus o’ diplomacy.
Of course, no-one dared breathe a word to the Commodore.
Even the sand shook with the sound of wooden clogs on deck.
There was little time to take names and the interpreters didn't dare press. 

The girls wore tan stockings and carried the best torture tools invented.
Any man could press against their flesh in the name of diplomacy.
Once back on deck, no-one dared breathe a word to the Commodore.

~

Published in BlazeVox Fall 2010