Ancient Mariner

‘tis I, the ancient mariner,
Now four score years plus one.
Yes, I sport a beard – it’s white,
But hush, my story has begun.

Two boys – it was early fifties,
School holidays and free,
To raid our fathers’ tool sheds
Build a boat, and go to sea.

The Manukau, a harbour,
Famed for winds and tidal flow.
What our parents couldn’t see,
Our parents wouldn’t know.

Hammers, nails and pots of paint,
Garden stakes from the backyard shed.
Our mainsail soon will be raised aloft.
It was a sheet nicked off my brother’s bed.

Complete, we sat her on the mud,
Climbed aboard, sat still no motion.
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Now water, water, everywhere
With the turning of the tide.
The boat stuck fast, she failed to rise.
Water lapping now inside.

Back to the drawing board my hearties,
Think and figure out the sums.
Once two mariners, fearless, now –
Two philosophers with wet bums.

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