modern-day buccaneers on vacation

Dust settles into the engine block
We unfurl maps pointing fingers
Tracing lines
Plotting pickaxe in spades canteen
& lantern

We lost sixteen souls last season due to frost
& Charlie couldn’t make it this time
(Being ill with the cough)
Wishing for better quick picks of treaties

We’ve got spells a plenty
Casting mandrake into fire
An intoxicating vial of vile vitriol
Wafting smoke with feathers captured
In the fall