A disagreement, a drowning, a dousing by David Wigram

Over bourbons the Bishop disagreed with the verger,
On matters parochial he continued to urge her,
Until drained of all grace he took a teaspoon:
Plunged it straight through the heart of Mrs. RAVOON.

To the briny basalt reaching up from the sea
My shipwrecked soul clutched, desperately.
But damnation awaited, for from it, rough-hewn,
Was a towering effigy: Mrs. RAVOON

On tropical railways, I toured and explored
When great winds leapt up, and trapped us aboard
And thus my cruel fate, forced by the monsoon:
To be stuck in a carriage with Mrs. RAVOON.