Ulysses, bound to the mast,
Like the star of the Strong Man Alone ads,
Was hoping, as oars thrust him past,
For a power surge down in his gonads:
“Row hard, lads!” he cried, in a mariner-style.
He hadn’t had pleasure like this for a while.
The veins in his temples were tense,
As he heard the waves break, and the gulls sing:
The sensations he felt were immense,
And within him, the blood started pulsing.
“Row well, lads!” he yipped, giving skipperish cheers,
Though his crew couldn’t hear, with the wax in their ears.
Ulysses, roped to his post,
Saw the blush of blue lights in the distance,
Heard the wail, like the howl of a ghost,
And its oh-so-seductive persistence.
Two men hopped aboard. Their expressions were hard.
“Mr.Ulysses? Questions, sir, down at the Yard.”