look back, Myrtle
a hot and hot fish club
old Carolina’s on your mind
All Saints could spice it up
whatever was on the line
a bevy of colorful coots
gourmet food lore
epicurean pursuits
strong drinks, fires
festive times for
Parish esquires
gentleman’s association
some revolutionary
others, too civil; prim
tricorn to flat brim
fifty dollars entry
for the proper gentry
in Drunken Jack
Island’s club shack
fishing, hunting, shining
raise a flag for dining
sheephead, bass
hogfish, pan; he won
a stag for venison
we need ham
and good rice, ma’am
for this potluck feast
rum, wine; fruit ripe
Virginia tobacco
in our pipes
fine talk, hearty laughter
the toast, by rules after—
before us
a hot and hot fish club
before you
right, Myrtle?
