. She started her Pilates class, Upon the Internet. The city was in lockdown, So, she knew, some work she’d get. She started on her webpage, Working hard into the night. She knew it wasn’t easy, So, she had to get it right. But she wasn’t good at spelling, As her friends had often said. For ‘though she was a clever girl, She wasn’t widely read. A small but such a big mistake, She should have typed “PILATES.” But got her “L’s” and “R’s” mixed up And ended up with “PIRATES.” She got to bed at midnight, With her laptop stashed away. To dream about the customers, That soon would come her way. Then logging on with relish, At the rising of the sun. Her Inbox it was bulging, She was having loads of fun. But on her screen were lots of guys, With faces to be feared. All brandishing their cutlasses, And dribbling in their beards. From Peg Leg Pete to Cut-Throat Jake, With scars from ear to ear. A Dead Man’s Chest with fifteen men, Their bellies full of beer. She knew she’d started something, The Pilates was no more. She had a different mission now, Her income was secure. The 19th of September, Is the time, or so they say, When Timbers all get shivered. Check it out, “WORLD PIRATE DAY.” . . Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.