Lawrie Stanford: Timeless Tales Told in Verse—The Pirate

I went down to the pub one day,
at the bar there was a pirate—
at least he had the gear I’d say,
so I asked him, had he hired it.

‘Oi’m a pirate, aye me ‘earty,
that oi be—aye, well and truly,
oi’m not dress’d up for no party,
oi be a pirate—quite unruly.’

Well I’ll be darned, I was in awe,
seeing peg-leg, hook and eye-patch,
and I wanted to know much more,
wondering what tales he’d hatch. 

I bought him beers as incentive
to tell me his tales of daring,
expecting something inventive
about life on ships, sea-faring.

‘So what about that wooden leg?’
was my first and awkward query.
‘That thing that looks just like a peg?’
He looked at me, his one eye bleary.

‘Swingin’ on a rope from our mast,
with me legs out there ‘angin’ free,
I was boardin’ a ship as it pass’d,
when a sword lopp’d me orf at the knee.’

Then I asked how he got the hook,
while noting it was his making, 
for sure, it was not a good look,
but a pirate?—there was no mistaking.

‘Cap’n’s girl it were, she wa’ pretty,
but the blaggard cut orf me ‘and
when I reached to touch her foyne titty—
and me fingers fell limp on the sand.’ 

And last, I queried the eye-patch,
to lose your sight is such a shame,
I wondered what’d be the catch,
and just who he’d find to blame.

‘Twas soon after me ‘ook was fit,
a fly ‘round me ‘ead buzzed about,
so I took a big swipe at it,
bloody ‘ook, took me eye right-out!’