He thought he’d take a rest, but then
The site he was reviewing
And he saw what looked like a blast
What some web wags were doing

A growing group started to forge
Takeoffs about the masts
Of the Edmund Fitz and how she
Made a voyage, her last

The conceit, though, became to show
If others than the slim
Lightfoot would write; the parodies
Were filling to the brim

Say instead the lyrics were cast
By the Beatles—just think
Take the song “I’m Down” and re-score
“It’s Down,” about the drink

It caught his eye, so he would try
A few; he was elated
So he would post upon the host
Site, then gauge how they’re rated

At length he had gone on and on
So long he’d become tethered
To the crazy old screaming guy
Whose voice was harsh and weathered

The first song about the Fitz deck
He thought, could not be fitter
Another “Spell” spoof would arise
Too big to fit on Twitter

“There were huge swells that grew,” he typed
Attempting some wordplay
Result a bit better than fair
He sent it on its way

Then with this “Spell” dispatched, once more
He would sit, wrack his bean
And in his fevered mind he saw
What should not have been seen

He then chanced upon in a tome
Of French verse that he read
He knew he would attempt to spawn
Gallic verse in his head
His ken of French was far from keen
The thought filled him with dread

The poem he chose was by Charles B.
The symbolist, top-grade
So Baudelaire it was to be
Decision had been made

A dictionary he would seek
A prerequisite thing
Without one he was sunk, he feared
He begged boat: “Leaks don’t spring!”

Frenchman-equipped was the ship
And he replied, “Oui, vous
Pouvez emprunter mon grand livre.”
Response: “Merçi, thank you!”

So then he did a thorough read
Of that which he had seen
“Correpondances” was the work
“Idéal” more than “Spleen”

He shifted words beneath the spars
Swapped English for français
He gave the “send” key then a prod
His work went on its way
[http://www.amiright.com/parody/misc/charlesbaudelaire0.shtml”]

Next came a man, moniker lass
Had his parents been loons?
“Joyce” was what they named him they day
He emerged from the womb

He is best knows for “Trees,” a mess
Of mixed-metaphor schlock
Good parody fare nonetheless
[http://www.amiright.com/parody/misc/joycekilmer3.shtml]
Up next, the boys of “Rock. . .”
[http://www.amiright.com/parody/70s/huescorporation13.shtml]

Their hit, although trite, would serve him right
Perfection was it’s name
“Rock the Boat” tailor-made it were
For the Fitzgerald game

He re-rigged it about the scow
That sank in a wet blur
After the cook came up on deck
And cried: “We’re fucked, that’s sure!”

A quick one was penned after that
[http://www.amiright.com/parody/60s/evanslivingston0.shtml]
Taken from horse that could
Speak better than that Dubya man
Whose English weren’t so good

With the livre grand still at his hand
The parodist said, “Right!
I’ll tackle Rimbaud; the demand
Will be work day and night.”

The poem is grand, but could he stand
The labor he’d impart?
Like Rimbaud, he have to be tanked
On absinthe if to start

He lashed it down, labored for hours
His chaser was a beer
When he was on the second day
He sensed the end was near

He’d piled it on then cried for joy
When he reached the word last
He proofed it and then he deployed
It to the site and fast
[http://www.amiright.com/parody/misc/arthurrimbaud0.shtml]

He then thought ’twas time to rejoice
And he was feeling good
In a vision it came to him
As on the deck he stood
A grievous goal had come his way
Albatross boss? He would!