I was enjoying a vacation, when I rented that fishing boat.
Thought the lake looked lovely, but camping grounds were not --
shabby office, tight sites, dirty restrooms, I note;
Sign read "Daily Rentals, forty dollars", unquote.
Happy that the money sought didn't seem a lot.
"So, what kind of boat?" I asked, as an afterthought.
"Sixteen foot Lund, with motor, will keep you afloat"

Only 40 bucks a day! Hurray!

Sounded great to me, to go fishing in a Lund.
With a vision of a bass-boat, I took the keys,
orange life-jackets, oars, and grandson to the second
dock along the sandy beach. I was really stunned
to find beat-up boat tethered, blowing in the breeze,
on narrow plywood dock, which gave me great unease.
Had to draw it closer, to load it. I was bummed!

Only 40 bucks a day! Hurray!

Grandson held it stable, as I entered the craft.
Landed on my rump, squatting for a missing bench,
while that leaky Lund wildly wobbled fore and aft.
The boy held tightly, but hysterically he laughed.
I grabbed the gunnels with a death-defying clench,
stabbed the oars into oarlocks, muttered something French.
So my hopes were found untrue. We received the shaft.

Only 40 bucks a day! Hurray!

Launched that leaky vessel from shaky plywood pier.
Pulled roped handle, as the motor began to purr.
Headed past the landing, holding tight the gear.
Going slow with the shoreline, keeping shallows near.
Breeze was blowing all morning, which often occur.
I had only gone one hundred yards past the spur,
when the motor died, for some reason still unclear.

My grandson had been trolling, he became upset,
as I pulled the starter cord, again and again.
The wind kept blowing us across the lake, as yet
every effort that I made, only made more sweat,
and I knew for sure, all the trouble we were in --
being pushed into tall reeds, much to my chagrin,
at the end of the lake by a tiny tough inlet.

Now we were trapped by lilypads and cattail reeds.
Stronger winds were blowing now, pushing us in deep.
Grabbed the oars then, rowing in efforts to be freed.
Boat was going nowhere, despite my desperate deeds.
With many max maneuvers, didn't even creep.
Those oars seemed so ineffective with every sweep.
We were hopelessly entangled within the weeds.

Grandson became worried, yelling "HELP US," quite loud,
as I continued struggling for some open space.
His anguished pleas finally drew a concerned crowd
from a house nearby, where the children were allowed
to play on the beach (for them quite commonplace).
So they heard his calls, and then they began a race
for their parents help. Making me so very proud.

"We're coming!" called the father, launching his pontoon,
loaded with his excited kids, and pretty wife.
I was grateful, as that help couldn't come too soon.
All my strength was sapped, while trapped, in that dang lagoon,j
While my grandson was sure that they had saved our life,
when that mom tossed across a rope to end our strife,
towing us all the way to camp that afternoon.

We were so relieved, as we reached the local beach,
our pure elation you can surely understand.
As we believed that our salvation was out of reach.
Least until somebody heard that heroic screech,
when my grandson took the situation in his hand.
Then propeller got buried as we hit the sand.
Perfect ending, with lasting memories for each.

Only 40 Bucks a day! Hurray!