A Sailor's Rescue
By Mel Wade

When down in the dumps, folks start crying
When down in the dumps, some even go buying

But I believe what's better than wailing
Is go to the dumps and --come out sailing.

Let me explain before psychoanalysis
Puts an end to my poemal synthesis:

I went to da dump, to da dump dump dump.
But after dumping developed a lump

In my throat as I looked at discarded treasures
And daydreamed of long past vacationing pleasures,

Afforded by a bed, a pier, or a bike
A boat, a stove, a stroller and the like.

A scavenger hunt at a Northwood's site
Soon makes you feel just about right.

As I stood by my empty trailer
Feeling deprived I spied--a sailor!

The hull of a sailboat of plastic and foam!
I couldn't resist just dragging it home.

It sat by my cottage for a year looking sad
Till a trip to the dump had me feeling so glad

That perhaps I did what you might think rash
I brought home--a Sunfish! Complete with a gash.

As I sail my "new" "Dumpster" I still feel a lump
Of guilt for returning my first boat to the dump.

Alas, this poor vessel had suffered the worst
For it had the distinction of being the first

To ever be dragged to a sanitary site
Not once, but twice. It just doesn't seem right.