Once upon a weekend dreary

Submitted by Kelan Roy CPA, MT

Once upon a weekend dreary, while I rebuild again, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious pile of aftermarket parts,

At 3AM, nearly napping, suddenly I hear a tapping,

A gently rapping, rapping inside my cylinders three.

"'Tis some piston slap," I muttered, "tapping in my chamber --

                                        Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was three days before the event,

And each broken part wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had tried to borrow

From my brothers broken Doo of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Pro-X --

For the fast and unpredictable banshee whom I shall call Sea Doo 83 --

                                        “Tis some trivial matter and nothing more”.

And the strange uncertain tapping of each revolution passing

Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to sound of the fuel pumps screaming, I stood repeating

"'Tis some normal piston slap I’m hearing, expected with racing clearances passing --

                                        This it is, and nothing more."

Deep into the craft leering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mechanic ever dared to dream before;

But the tapping continued unabated, and a throttle snap gave no clue,

Only a gentle rapping, well no, a tapping deep inside chamber number two

I whispered, Tis piston slap

                                        Merely this, and nothing more.

Then to advance timing turning, all my soul within me burning,

Because soon I heard again a tapping much louder than before!!!

"Surely," said I, "surely that is some evil that’s sprung a new!;

Let me see, then, what’s the matter, and this mystery explore --

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--

                                        'Tis the clearances and nothing more!"

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

Open here I flung the lanyard, when, with many a gasp and sputter,

My creation did surrender to the lack of power ended,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of my cylinders three,

Promising that on the morrow she will again scream with glee.

I sat engaged in unfastening, but no syllable expressing

The fears that kept growing as my light would soon reveal.

On the cushion's leather lining, I sat divining,

Thoughts of funds passing, my eyes peered into my cylinders three.

"Wretch," I cried, "thing of evil!

There upon my piston gleaming, sat a bearing that had been beating

Madly deep into my chambers three!  All hope of racing fading

As bearing related damage inflating, not just one cylinder but times three!

What unmerciful disaster had befallen my Doo of sorrow

It will be many morrows till the world sees Sea Doo number 83

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