Originally published in Songs of Spring by the Uplifters, circa 1917.
The Spring is the time to make verses;
It’s also the time to hear curses;
And I know that I’d orter
Be lead to the slaughter,
Unless the next poem far worse is.
A Supposyville Picnic
This is the tale of Sea Gull’s Point
And how the engine got out of joint.
’Twas fine and fair in Supposyville,
But rather hot. Said the King: “We will
Go out for a lark in our new motorboat
And take our supper; ’twill be cool afloat!”
So down they trooped to the old town dock—
’Twas 7 p. m. by the castle clock.
The jolly Rover tugged at her rope,
Then away she went at a sailor’s lope,
With all aboard, from King to cook.
And m—m! the barrel of stuff they took
To eat. Pretty soon they sighted land—
A long, thin strip of gleaming sand.
They trooped ashore with a right good will
With the help of a rowboat and Captain Bill.
The wood was gathered, a big fire built
And the cocoa pot at the proper tilt
Was set atop. Geewhiz! I hate
To tell the truth—how they ate and ate
Till nothin’ was left but cups and rockses—
If the cook had waited they’d have et the boxes.
But pshaw! they made one mistake all right;
Never gave that engine a single bite.
And it pouted and spouted and trouble was brewing.
“I’ll get even with ’em for what they’re doing,”
It grumbled to itself, but no one heard,
And that’s how the whole blame thing occurred.
’Bout nine o’clock they chugged away;
The sky had turned from blue to gray.
That old engine was chucklin’ to itself. It knew
Just what it was plannin’ to up and do.
Halfway home it began to cough,
Gave a snore, then turned itself clean off.
The King held the light, while an old ex-whaler
Called on the engine to get on like a sailor,
But it wouldn’t budge and it went to sleep
And left ’em marooned on the briny deep.
Then a storm came up and the rain came down,
And those poor folk were like to drown!
But it couldn’t dash the spirits of King and crew.
The more it rained and the more it blew
The louder they sang and joked and laughed—
“Shut down the window, I feel a draft!”
Ah, well! to make a long story short,
When the engine saw the kind and sort
Of a crew it had shipped, it gave a chug
And started back at a sulky plug.
And at two o’clock with a sigh and snort
It bumped ’em down at a nearby port.
From there they tranped the last long mile
And all turned in to snooze a while.
But I want to tell you, next time, I’ll bet,
They’ll feed the engine and not forget!
Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.
