Walter Dendy Sadler, English
Olive Garden Diner Struggling To Finish His Never Ending Pasta Bowl, Date Unknown
Oil on canvas
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Artist info is pointed to in my comment at a prior blog entry.
/// On his birthday the Skipper gets toasted.
“I have never been seasick,” he boasted.
Then he buried his face in
that huge porcelain basin,
thus ensuring by guests he’ll be roasted.
/// Skipper spewed all he’d eaten and drunk,
but his boast had been truthful, not bunk.
On dry land, on shore leave,
with no rocking, he’ll heave.
And without his new vessel he’s sunk.
/// The old Skipper could not help but grin
as he wiped some puke off of his chin.
The fish chowder he’d scarfed
down, and afterwards barfed,
looked, thrown up, as it had going in.
/// They drank rum which was strong— undiluted.
Of the Skipper’s guests, some got “polluted.”
One who over-partook,
(the Third Mate with the hook),
nearly lost an eye when he saluted.
/// He’d been cook on a fine sailing craft.
Sailors stared at his hook and they laughed.
“We don’t mean to be rude,
but you can’t get us food.”
But each day he served fish, freshly gaffed.