Too Rough To Feed Ya! Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

Too Rough To Feed Ya!

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The cook blew out the pilot light
secured the pots and pans
and packed the crockery
away for eternity

The gales of November
were blowing the iron boat
with its well-seasoned crew
off its course for Whitefish Point

Captain radioed last time
'We are holding our own! '
Thirty-foot waves swept
the decks and filled cargo holds

At suppertime the old cook said,
'Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya! '

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