By t. edgar corsini
Amelia Island, FL
June 30, 2018 9:00 a.m.
Editor’s Note: After reading Evelyn C. McDonald’s “Poetic License,” Tim Corsini, a former resident, dear friend, and admirer of Nola Perez sent us one of his poems. Tim lived on Amelia Island for several years and was active during the early years of the Book Island Festival. According to Corsini, this poem was written for the festival’s 2004 kick-off party held at The Palace.
The Pirate of the Palace Saloon
It’s Rock ‘n’ Roll night at the Palace Saloon,
An aroma of beer fills the air.
A crowd at the bar, the tables full
For the start of the Island’s book fair.
From far and near celebrants come
To listen to aimless old hacks
Twist in the wind with tales that spin
Convoluted verbiage and facts.
T’was not long ago salty pirates
Roamed the town’s rutted alleys and bars.
Glistening sabers hung at their sides
And eye-patches sat atop scars.
Shadowy corners faint images cast
Old haunts of the Palace Saloon.
A pirate, peg-legged, with an evil eye
Breathes rum down your neck too soon.
“Ahoy! and Avast! Me mateys, at last
I’m home to the place I like best.
Return, I will, to the sea again
When I’m drunk and I’ve had me rest.”
“Barkeep,” he growls, “It’s rum I’ll have,
Fill a cup for me mateys and me.”
He throws back his head and drains the cup dry
And narrows his good eye to see.
A menacing stare that eye does cast;
He glares at the crowd in the room.
Those seated in front shudder with fear
And seek to escape certain doom.
His sword he lifts high, sweeps the room with his eye,
Then hauls out a battered old trunk.
He growls to the crowd, “Let’s be done with this talk;
It’s time all me mateys are drunk.”
He throws open the lid and peers down deep
To the darkness of Davy Jones hell.
He reaches inside for a jug of his rum,
“Now, we’ll drink from this bottomless well.”
Rum, gone to his head, his face flushes red
He stomps his peg leg on the floor
And follows the call to resume his post
On the sidewalk, outside the door.