Carol Gano - Sirens

Those damn sirens!

Just when I had gotten into the swing of mopping decks in the relative freedom of mere shackles—sans being tethered to the main sail. Now, I can reach behind the liquor barrels to clean, and nab a quick nip to numb my aching body. I tried numerous times to explain, being cuffed damages fragile, delicate skin. But they didn’t listen to me, probably French ‘frogs’. Consequently, I’m sporting raw wrist wounds that cannot be kept from the sea water. Bad enough before the sores developed to mop with the wrist cuffs due to my metal allergy, the Doc explained, ‘Nothing to be done’.

The options, actually: jump overboard to be with the broads, or further impair my own movement on deck by roping myself to the main mast. Not as if anyone would notice if behind the rum barrels got any dirtier; those men who come anywhere near the booze have one thing on their minds and the untethered ones only have those wenches on theirs!

It wouldn’t be unbearable if we were listening to a world-class female acapella group, but no, no, those ladies all pick different times to belt out at the top of their lungs, let me add. My theory anyways. Even IF no one asks me. The jumpers went crazy.

It’s not lust for women folk as the land-lovers insist of us seamen, but plain old delirium due to continuous decibel overload on the eardrums. Eardrums attach to the delicate grey matter inside of the skill, everyone knows! I’m convinced it’s the hyper-oscillation result of those women’s high-pitched voices that scrambles a man’s thinking process. Lust! As if! We’re all too bloody tired to the bone to give a siren what the girls back home are certain that we are after! I’m telling you, there is no will to be in it with anyone. We are not just tired; we are sick and hungry and drunk as possible.

Sirens! As if!

Well, time to further restrict myself by lacing myself to the main shaft. Only one last shift until our vessel pulls clear of their cacophony, finally.

Sirens!

Last thing a working man needs. Who do they think they are Tina Turner? Aretha Franklin?

Tie me to the mast matey!