by Chris "Childe Harold" Oakley
It is a buff young windsurfer
Who stoppeth one of three:
Bare-assed, he tends the barbecue
And night-time revelry.
For all his cheek, the sailboarder
Derives from ancient stock -
The noble catholic German house
Of Grossenschwanzenglock
His limbs are lithe and muscular
And olive is his skin
But on his dark, Adonis face
He wears an impish grin.
The one of three, hight Steve, doth stare
For beauty holds him fast.
He does not rest until all three
Have signed up for his class.
The three are middle-aged men
In none-too-healthy state
For 'round their barrel chests they bear
Hogsheads of surplus weight!
"Thy lusts will do us harm," quoth Dan:
"Who will thy poor soul save?
For any board thou steppest on
Will sink beneath the waves!"
On Lefkas, 'pon the southern tip
The lovelorn Sappho died:
By love betrayed, the only way
She saw was suicide!
And from the ledge where Sappho fell
To Vassiliki Bay
The zephyrs 'wakened by the dawn
Do sing her name by day!
But no such elegiac strains
Arrest the daytime play
And brightly-coloured sails and boards
Kick up a mighty spray!
And in the calmest, shallow bit,
Hard by the pebble beach,
The windsurfer, hight Hans, doth try
The corpulent to teach
Upon the shallow stones the three
Like beached whales do thrash
Or clamber on their boards again
To fall with fearsome splash!
Hans, nimbly dodging water walls
That strive the bay to drain
Despairing stands with head in hands:
He cannot hide the pain!
"I don't know vy, you has-beens try
A vatersport to learn!
Ye look like salmon, trapp'd upstream
Who in their death-throes churn!"
That night on bitter Grecian wine
Two of the three do drink,
And wonder if 'twould better serve
To clean the kitchen sink!
But Stevey, now in sombre mood,
Doth staunchly remain dry -
Fermented grapes he must escape
For twice he nearly died!
"Well, that went well," quoth Chris as he
Another puts away,
"And how are you sure that he for
The other team doth play?"
"'Tis in his eyes," 'xplains Steve, "the nose:
The lips like Cupid's bow -
The graceful fem'nine walk - there's that:
And that he told me so!"
"And what hast thou," scoffs Chris, "to help
The path to get thee laid?
With cash and youth no longer thine
And music hardly play'd?"
"I will not hear this poor attempt
To cut me down to size!
My 'Waltz for Harp and Spoon' did win
The Cal Arts annual prize!"
But Dan and Chris just scoff the more
And to their beds to tend
Convinced that Planet Earth no more
Doth hold their college friend.
But progress on the second day
Makes Hans now less concerned:
He now doth say, in a cheeky way
His lessons now are learn'd.
"To music vill ve surf," quoth Hans,
"I know the perfect tune!
A modern piece, 'tis by a Yank:
The Valtz for Harp and Spoon!"
"'Tis me," quoth Steve triumphantly,
"That sorry Yank is me!" -
And Dan and Chris are so surprised
They fall into the sea!
"Forgiff mein rudeness und mein cheek,"
Quoth the windsurfing boy,
"I should haff realised that you were
Not a, but the Steve
Hoey!"
With arm outstretch'd, Steve motions to
A benediction grant:
Like sunburn'd Buddha with a buff
And loyal supplicant!
That eve doth Steve and Hans in haste
To gay clubland drive off
While Dan and Chris do stay to dine
At the surf school's own trough.
The bedroom noise is fearsome loud -
Throughout the night it goes;
And yet the pair, when morn appears
Do punctually show!
For days this pattern carries on -
And then both disappear
E'en on his homeward flying date
Still nothing do they hear!
Chris and Dan can wait no more
And tho' they are one short,
They pack their tiny, rented car
And leave the sail resort.
"Stop! Wait!" there comes a Yankee voice;
"Don't leave here without me!
I'm all set up - I've packed my bags
And must this strange land flee!"
And as along the mountain roads
Their twisted path doth weave,
The tale of spicy deviance
Is told by minstrel Steve.
Quoth he, "Our love was sweet at first -
It both of us did please: -
The purest form of Grecian bond
As taught by Socrates!
"But with his taste for kinkiness
It soon did come to pass
That to the bed I would be strapp'd
With candle up my ass!
"He then enacted a ritual
Derived from ancient Greeks:
All unconcerned that molten wax
Did burn my wanton cheeks!
"The surfing gear did then appear -
The harnesses and cord:
I had no clue what one could do
With a sharp daggerboard!
"And in the midst of savagery
While cackling like a loon,
He forced me to sing out loud
My 'Waltz for Harp and Spoon'!
"This piece that I had writ, howe'er
I had not learn'd by rote!
And Hans would scream admonishment
At ev'ry faulty note!
"So when Hans slept, away I crept
And essay'd to lie low -
There out of sight, in garret tight
'Til you were 'bout to go!"
But maybe from this sorry tale
A lesson somewhere lurks:
Unequal bonds betwixt two souls
Are harder to make work!