Erie Canal Poem

  A little poem about the Erie Canal

If your fenders are clean, you ain't never been thru the locks of the Erie Canal.

Slime dark brown and green hangs with a bright sheen and this slippery stuff waits as you enter the gates.

So we reach for the lines that rub in the grime, that hang on the walls as the lock master calls.

Zebra mussels spit 'cause they live in this shit, saying "we'll never fall 'cause we're stuck to this wall, great home this Erie Canal."

 "We don't need all this grime as she dreams of Spray Nine"  "It could be all cleaned up if they'd keep these gates shut", says Cheryl on the Erie Canal.

If every boat and their crew would just scrub as they locked thru, we'd clean up this Erie Canal.

The barnacles stutter and cough as one by one they fall off.

Deja Vu flips like an otter, 'cause she likes the fresh water. Good tasting, this Erie Canal.

The ladies are purring, propellers are churning

The dinghy still smiles thru 2,000 miles, with nose thrust upward she seems to stare ....  the wrinkles are many, she has lost most of her air.

"Holy Crap" Cheryl said, "the sumacks are red" Time to get off this Erie Canal.

Snowbirds check their thermometers as they check off the kilometers, southbound on the Erie Canal

We smile and we wave, they think we're half crazed, northbound on the Erie Canal.

Lake Oneida is smooth, no need to perplex, after 29 miles, Oswego is next.

Cheryl's gone to the kitchen .... says it close to lunch time. I'm at the wheel still trying to rhyme and drive thru the Erie Canal.

From her we travel alone thru the lock ups, Waypoint is still at Starbucks.

Stop him, please stop him, he's out of control. He can't stop rhyming on the Erie Canal.