The Plank

‘Neh, sire, tis you, sire,

‘tis you who has to walk,

For ‘tis you, sire, the liar,

With one leg, the stork.’


‘Shiver mi wotsits, capt’n,

I’m innocent of that crime,

No idea how it happen,

That musket weren’t mine.’


A sharp stick pokes in his back,

Further he hops over the plank,

Timber squeaks, doesn’t crack,

Swordsman pushes, hand on flank.


‘This, sire, is my brig,

You’re nothing but a marauder,

A one-legged pirate pig,

Only fit for slaughter.’


‘Capt’n please, I beg of ya,

Mi leg is made o’ cast-iron,

I’ll sink down even faster,

‘an a fully laden gallyon.’


Feet an’ peg scuffle along,

Further, further to the end,

Who’s right? Who’s wrong?

Creaking wood starts to bend.


A loud crack and crunching splinter,

Capt’n and Pirate drop, voices shrill,

They land on grass in fits of laughter,

And two boys roll down grassy hill.




150 Words.

Edited from an Original Post on:

Scribblers Forum Thread – Flash Poesy 114 – Photo Prompt

A beginner, just a beginner.

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