The Tale of the Ship's Wheel

There once was a ship's wheel that grew legs and nonchalantly hopped overboard.

Question marks, exclamation points, and other punctuation appeared above the frantic, flabbergasted captain’s head.

His bloated aging-man belly undulated amidst the frenzy;

He almost loses his hat as he scurries to peer over the edge.

And then the ship's wheel grew arms, crossed them behind and mockingly reclined.

Now this almost sent Sir Cap-i-tan over the edge, literally,

But he remembers that he is a soggy rum sponge and that the sea might suck him up just the same.

The brown-nosed lap dog of a first mate made certain to validate his highness’ frustration as his wiry, underqualified body swayed with the sea.

Little-boy-dandy wasn’t entirely useless for he could swim, but never had he fathomed he’d be walking the plank (it’s hard to walk when you’re on your knees licking the bossman’s boots clean).

The rest of the crew sneers, leers, and cheers while they meticulously adjust the trembling sails,

Even as the wind picks up they swing and cling to the ropes like little circus monkeys, seemingly unaware that a storm is on the horizon.

These sailors-for-hire were well tempered for their kind; rarely rowdy or rabble rouse-y,

But Monsieur Captain had a penchant for disciplinary gestures to be carried out by his mood-swing muscle-man beef cake.

They were always keen to muster an excuse to lock someone up and take their already dinky dinner and  rum rations (I must admit they did run a tight ship as a result).

The wheel held no grudge for its handling and knew the crew would be more amused than troubled even with the tempest approaching.

Bulging-bicep Betty is commanded to motivate the transformation of whimpering willy; golden boy to golden retriever,

But this little doggie didn’t want to play fetch anymore, not when fetching isn’t a bone to pick with the others to bring to daddy.

Guilt washes over him as he watches the waves below and the winking good-bye waves of the men 

he had slandered.

The wheel continues to taunt; twirling, swirling, and whirling about!

As expletives are thrown, the jib sheet grows a face that can’t help laughing at the red tomato-headed tantrum-having Mister.

Our cannon-calved-crony shows his necessary scorn as he lifts that shameful shuddering-Sally to meet the depths of potential demise.

The wind whips warnings and rain drops drip in the place of absentee tears for fear of drowning, threatening a lesson in more than course divergence.

Captain courageous and his muscle suddenly realize they are running out of time and hastily give the first mate encouragement previously denied.

The main boom is wise and tired of everyone’s antics so it grows a hand that pushes all three over the side and scoops up the wheel, knowing they all need it to survive.

It high fives the crew, the wheel does a jig, and the jib exclaims, “Let’s get on with our lives!”

The end.