Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: ANNOYED (04/05/18)
TITLE: Guarding the Precious Purse
By Nancy Bucca
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Because it’s travel time again. I sigh. What can be worse
Than having to set sail at night? I’m tired as can be,
But I must climb into a boat with THOSE guys. Lucky me!
I’d place the purse strings ‘round my neck if they were long enough.
Since they are not, I’ll use my lap. I hope the ride’s not rough.
Unfortunately, it’s not long before my fear comes true.
A squall arises, jinxing me. Now what am I to do?
Rough winds assail our tiny boat, we’re thrown against each other.
Some seasick clown I do not like, who calls himself my “brother,”
Jabs my side and bumps my purse. I think he knows I “dip.”
I cringe at his apology and wish he would jump ship
Because his smile reminds me I can’t serve both God and gold.
I want to hide from him, but this small vessel has no hold.
As fresh gusts slap my cheeks, brine hits my eyes. My limbs grow numb.
I place the purse between my knees and try to move my thumb
While sitting on a splintered board that creaks with every wave.
We’re tossed like apples in a cart. Why won’t this sea behave?
My head is getting dizzy, and the ship is going down.
As water washes o’er the stern, I fear my purse will drown.
To stay inside this boat, I need both hands for grasping wood,
But that means letting go the purse and I don’t think I should
Because that satchel bears the key to my identity.
Besides, the gold it carries pays for my security.
To lose it would destroy my world. Oh, what a loathsome curse!
What worse fate can befall a man in this wide universe?
The wind screams like a banshee and my shipmates see a ghost.
I say, “Forget delusions, men, and steer toward the coast.”
But do they listen? No. “You mustn’t fret about the gold,”
My fellow mates correct me. Then somebody yells, “Behold!”
“It’s Him! He’s come to meet us here! How awesome! God be praised!”
I don’t know how those guys can see a thing through all that haze.
It must be an illusion, but the voice sounds like it’s real.
Then, as I look that way, I feel a jerk. Hey, what’s the deal?
Some joker snatched my purse, I see. His feet have left the boat.
“Don’t act so crazy!” I demand. “Your prank will never float.”
“Return those coins immediately before they make you sink!”
He heeds me not, yet Jesus saves him from disaster’s brink.
How everybody claps to see him rescue that poor guy!
But once he’s back inside the boat, I almost want to cry.
I guess I should be happy Jesus calmed the raging storm.
Yet I will never rest until my purse is dry and warm.
That Peter really soaked it. Now I’m wringing out the brine.
I can’t complain to Jesus though. He chides me when I “whine.”
It seems his other followers are truly overjoyed.
But as for dear old Judas here, I’m nothing but annoyed.
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