MASTERPIECE #3101

/// A lone woman begins her vacation
down the gangplank for The Embarkation
at Calais on the day
the great ship sails away,
and she smiles, thinking “Emancipation!”

/// She’s The Traveller, a widow who needs
to wear colors, and not widow’s weeds.
With a self-assured air
and distinct savoir faire
she’s determined and always succeeds.

/// There were rumors she wouldn’t debunk
that her late husband had been a drunk.
His last wish was that he
might be buried at sea.
What is in that large too-heavy trunk?

/// The poor porter strains under the weight.
Could it be the young widow’s ex-mate?
No, that’s foolish, of course. It’s
filled with dozens of corsets,
for the wasp-waist she uses as bait.

/// Her late husband’s death did make her sad.
In his honor she wears his clan’s plaid.
And the autumnal hues
of her outfit are clues
that she misses her scotch-lovin’ lad.

/// Now he rests in the old family plot.
And she takes this last chance she has got.
Though she hasn’t forgot
her lamented great Scot,
he would want her to strike now— while hot.

/// She now travels alone, as a rule.
To her chaperones, fate had been cruel.
When she toured the Grand Canyon,
her vacation companion
broke her neck falling off of a mule.

/// The gangway tilted down; her heart sank.
From below men peered up (leered and drank).
Some gangplanks are uptilted.
At its end you’ll feel wilted,
or all wet, if the gang walks the plank.

/// Men may think peeking up a girl’s skirt
is no sin, because nobody’s hurt.
But if some scuzzy rando
sees she’s “going commando,”
he may move on to deeds more overt.