The bilge on my ship is very deep by comparison. I repainted it in 1997, and since then my specs have fallen in there, not to be retrieved. Two bilge pumps
hide in there. The bilge is known as the "pit".
I, too, have the same problem - which prompted this poem:
The bilge is such a frightful place, itís damp, it stinks, itís black
And anything that goes down there is never coming back.
Iíve lost two wrenches, countless nuts, my dinghyís new inflator
I fear that somethingís living there, perhaps an alligator.
I think he thrives on things I drop that fall down through the cracks.
My fear is heíll come after me if I donít pay his tax.
He only wants important things I cannot do without.
Iím only glad Iím not down there, I guess Iím just too stout.
My bilge pump, it stopped working, two months ago or more.
Iím scared to go and fix it, Iíll just move the boat on shore,
And drain the bilge by drilling holes into my precious hull.
The yard boys think Iím crazy but my life is never dull.
Iíll drill my holes then patch them when the bilge is all done draining,
And launch my boat, go sailing, but now itís started raining.
The rain is seeping to my bilge, the cycle is unending.
My alligatorís hungry, and I think heís needing tending.
I toss some charts into the bilge, a sacrificial gift.
My radio, my GPS, I drop into the rift.
To appease the alligator god, no offeringís too great.
Heís going to get it anyway, he only needs to wait.