The engine room puffed like a grampus.
It was short upon muscle and steam.
The engineers, fresh from a campus,
Caused all the old pistons to scream.
It was hell, as they tell it, way below decks.
They were lubbers and luvvies, and nervous as wrecks.
The captain's log spoke of THE FUTURE,
And the dial of his compass was set.
The ship's surgeon told him to suture:
Do not cut up the officers yet.
He stood in his uniform, bold, on the bridge,
While the breeze hit his face like a blast from a fridge.
He brought in new boilers and rudders
And dined them on hard tack and rum.
The engine gave several shudders;
The turbines seemed ready to thrum.
The officers waited in full naval dress
Then marched up the gangplank to sit in their mess.
