The first of the undecoded messages read: “Popeye sits in thunder, 
Unthought of. From that shoebox of an apartment, 
From livid curtain’s hue, a tanagram emerges: a country.” 
Meanwhile the Sea Hag was relaxing on a green couch: “How pleasant 
To spend one’s vacation en la casa de Popeye,” she scratched 
Her cleft chin’s solitary hair. She remembered spinach

And was going to ask Wimpy if he had bought any spinach. 
“M’love,” he intercepted, “the plains are decked out in thunder 
Today, and it shall be as you wish.” He scratched 
The part of his head under his hat. The apartment 
Seemed to grow smaller. “But what if no pleasant 
Inspiration plunge us now to the stars? For this is my country.”

Suddenly they remembered how it was cheaper in the country. 
Wimpy was thoughtfully cutting open a number 2 can of spinach 
When the door opened and Swee’pea crept in. “How pleasant!” 
But Swee’pea looked morose. A not was pinned to his bib. “Thunder 
And tears are unavailing,” it read. “Henceforth shall Popeye’s apartment 
Be but remembered space, toxic or salubrious, whole or scratched.”