On the lost and found. (#6)

Prompt: freestyle (sung in the key of g minor, though all participants were over 18 and the only g’s were their strings, and this is a work of fiction.)

I’ll tell you a story so tragic and true,
‘bout two girls, a strip club, and a banged-up canoe,
They left down the river, they came up the bay,
Canoe empty-handed, on a fine summer’s day.

It started out so peaceful and clear,
The girls woke up and dressed in their utmost queer,
Bomber jackets, shorts, and two oars on the helm,
Their bellies were full and their minds in the realm,

But the wind was too strong and their arms couldn’t rank,
One had just had an ‘arms day,’ the other, the cramps,
They knew if they faltered, the dingy’d have sank,
It was fate that they bumped against a small handmade ramp.

They moored the canoe at a place pretty fierce,
The rusty swingset, abandoned car, tattered flag,
Seemed indicative of piercings,
Of knives in their bodies, guts spilled on the ground,

So they went through the forest and turned right around.
They traipsed through farmland, and they trespassed and slinked,
That it seemed though they’d surely be thrown in the clink.
Or at least served with subpoenas for criminal renown,

Finally, they staggered through the wide open plain,
To add insult to injury, it was really a pain
Though the map showed their journey of miles or more,
That the poor little boat had sailed mere yards from the shore.

They sought shelter indoors then went out to the car,
They looked near and far, but the boat disappeared,
The tide had risen and the water was near,
So they swore like bandits, and got a burger and a beer.

They mourned the canoe with Decemberists songs,
And drove along aimlessly ‘till they found what was wrong.
They sought the essentials of good company,
The neon lights of the strip club seemed in perfect harmony.

They stared at fake nipples ‘till their faces were red,
Got lapdances from Vida and Lexus, drank and broke bread,
With a man sitting next to them, ‘till he proposed,
That they all go to his place and continue the show.

So the girls, creeped as fuck, got the hell out of dodge,
And they looked for the canoe as night set on the lodge,
It was not to be found and it was not to be gained,
They cut off their losses, fucked ’till they cried,
And vowed to return when the spring wind had died,
To find the canoe and retrieve their lost pride.

The moral of the story is just not to complain,
And cover the tracks where the ol’ canoe lay,
Feign innocence and politesse and bribe if you may.
And hope that the damned boat returns one nice day,
Until then, bring singles, and get the girls’ names!

-C.

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