After a night of heavy drinking I retired to my
private room aboard the Queen Hellen of Augusta
cruise liner.
My sheets, always clean and freshly pressed,
provided a safe haven from the roustabouts
that patrolled the boat at night.
Upon waking I dressed in my pure white uniform
and paraded down to the boat's galley.
Santos had ordered an assortment of intriguing
delicacies from the last port, and I was anxious to
get my hands into them.
At times I had reservations about Santos,
and his knack for choosing the nastiest
rankest fruits and vegetables available,
though on this day he rose to the occasion
by selecting the most radiant onions I had ever come to know.
No doubt that when my steel met their skin
the typically jubilant galley would turn
to a lachrymose mess,
inundated with noxious onion beauty.