The Wreck of The Marcia Brady
© 1993, Antsy McClain
Primer Grey Publishing, BMI, All Rights Reserved

Michael’s grandpa rode the seas, a sailor in the war.
He’d tell us all the stories and we’d always beg for more.
For two young boys like Mike and me,
Miles from any raging sea,
Grandpa Shannon’s tales would be
Like nothing we had ever heard before.

Beyond the school, just down the road, we spent each summer day
In Hardin creek, just three yards wide, two sailors hard at play.
Our cuorduroys rolled to our knees,
You’d think we ruled the seven seas,
Just a brook between some trees,
But we were many continents away.

A sailor needs a vessel, this we clearly understood,
So we found some plastic milk jugs and a pallet made of wood.
Secured the jugs beneath the boards,
Tied them down with ropes and cords
The extra planks served well as swords,
To fight off evil pirates, best we could.

I can’t recall discussion over what we’d name our boat.
There wasn’t any question. We never had a vote.
Her picture hung from our flag pole.
Her likeness stirred both heart and soul.
Though waves would swell and thunder roll,
We’d keep The Marcia Brady safe, afloat.

Aboard The Marcia Brady we were sailors, brave and hard.
Charting unsailed waters, never leaving our backyard.
The crawdads were our tiger sharks.
For seagulls we had meadowlarks.
We’d left our home to make our marks!
The rough and ready Hardin Creek Coast Guard.

One rainy morn we leaped aboard and heard an eerie squeak.
All those days in water left the ropes rotten and weak.
The jugs came loose, were going fast,
The pallet sunk, we lost the mast,
And Marcia’s picture fell at last,
And sailed away – face up – in Hardin creek.

We sat waist-deep in water, listening to the rain.
And sloshed to Michael’s house with soggy pants and sailor’s pain,
Then we saw it, once inside,
Her face! There! On the TV Guide!
We gazed awhile, then said with pride,
The Valerie Bertinelli would be our new ship’s name.